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5HUT-IN SONGS 



BY 



PAUL HUDSON 




JEFFLR50NVILLE, INDIANA 
MCMVI 



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r7H<?ARY of eONGRf.SS 
Twii Corvipf R«cftiv«l 

AUG 2^ 1906 

XL ASS Ct .■^-■'•'C. NO 
COPY -B. 



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Copyrighted, 1906, by Paul Hudson. 






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^ I respect- 

^ fullly dedicate 

this book to Rev. 
W. E. Edgin and Ed- 
itor Chas. D. Reader, to 
whose soul-stirring sermons and 
to whose sincere interest and ines- 
timable counsel during an ex- 
tended period of daily as- 
sociation the verses 
which it contains 
are largely due. 

PAUL HUDSON. 



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5HUT-IN SONGS 



CONTLNT5 



According to the Golden Rule 

American Brotherhood 

Apt Scholar, An . . . 

As Good as Any . 

Be a Man .... 

Begin Today ... 

Bill's Sweetheart . 

Black Sheep, The 

Blessed, The .... 

Blue Back Spelling Book, The 

Blue Sunday .... 

Captive Mocking Bird, The 

Child Again at Night, A 

Christmas Eve in the Porcupine 

Come Away .... 

Comin' ob de Spring . 

Contrary Winds 

Credit to the Town, A 

Don't Rail at Fate . 

Down the River of Life 

Easter Acrostic 

English Langvitch, Der 

Enormous Tasks 

Freak in Physiognomy, A 



148 

106 

159 

23 

129 

169 

34 

116 

47 

93 

45 

24 

158 

72 

33 

160 

10 

111 

117 

68 

157 

108 

131 

120 



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5HUT-1N 50NG5 



Goat That Talked, The 140 

Golden Rule, The 38 

Governor J. Frank Hanly . . . .86 

Hallucinations 162 

Hans' Soliloquy 154 

Have a Mind of Your Own .... 165 

Have a Purpose in Life 60 

He Didn't Know the Difference. . . 31 

He Had An Ache 39 

He is Risen 121 

Helping Hand, The 166 

He Made a Pi 106 

He Wanted to See the Guy . . . .137 
He Wanted to Shoot a Man ... 13 

Holiday on the Farm 63 

Home Again Tonight 16 

How Mean 142 

If I Were Free Tonight .... 179 
I Love Them Both So Well . . . .111 
I'm Going to Be An Optimist ... 55 

Insultin' Cuss, An 133 

In the Shade of the Old Calaboose . . 97 

Introduction 6 

It's Never Too Late to Mend ... 91 

Just Fifteen Years Ago 69 

Just Tell Them I'll Be Here . . .122 

Key to Joy is Toil, The 83 

King Alcohol 17 

Know Yourself 24 

Liar, The 130 

Life Is What You Make It (Two Spasms) 27 - 94 
Life's Little Things ..... 122 
Lion Cub and the Man, The . . . .72 
Little Girl, I Think of You . . . 167 

Little Things 38 

Logical Verses 76 

Longing 140 

Lookin' Back 147 

Look Up! Lift Up! 41 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



Making of Bill, The . 

Making of Criminals, The 

Mary's "Lamb" . 

Message of Peace, A 

My Creed 

My Old Arkansas Home 

New Year Acrostic 

No Place Like Chicago . 

No Place Like Home . 

Ode to Osgood 

Old Sweetheart of Mine, An 

Optimistic Philosophy 

Orphan Joe . 

O, What Will the Harvest Be? 

Parable of the Talents 

Parting of the Ways, The 

Pathetic Illustration, A 

Patrick's Dilemma . 

Power of Influence, The 

Printer's View, The 

Printshop Devil, The . 

Printshop Towel, The 

Prisoner's Dream, The 

Raining .... 

Realm of Peace, The . 

Resembled, After All 

Road to Hell, The 

Rolling Stones 

Roney's Boys 

Sage of East Aurora, The 

Sermon on Hell . 

Shall I Still Linger Behind? 

She Was From Missouri 

Soldier's Revery, A 

Some Freaks of Nature 

Some People of the World 

Song He Sang of Mother, The 

Song I Love, The . 

Street Corner Mashers 



118 

112 
15 

144 
16 

136 

8 

83 

29 

102 
89 

128 

172 
95 

161 
84 
57 
55 

167 
85 

145 
17 
54 
43 
11 

132 
18 
98 
49 
48 

150 
50 

156 

164 

130 
58 
64 
76 

170 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



Summertime Ruminations 

Thanksgiving 

There's Still a Chance for You 

They Made of It Spring Lamb 

Think of the Rights of Others 

Those Who Help Themselves 

Time Flies .... 

Time Waits for No Man 

To Do the Best We Can . 

To the Publisher . 

Trips to Boyland 

Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Star 

Value of Character, The 

Venezuelan Hot Air . 

Wanted— A Boy 

Wanted, Reliable Men 

W'en de New Year Cum 

We See Through a Glass Darkly 

What's de Use? 

What You're Going to Be . 

When One Grows Old 

Where the Wabash River Flows 

While the Bread Was Rising . 



^ 



:^ 



124 
51 
25 

104 
91 
41 
82 

155 

44 

28 

42 

9 

105 

152 
32 
37 
81 
21 
22 
69 

110 
88 
97 



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5HUT-IN 50NG5 




EFFERSONVILLE is a quaint old 
town that stolidly looks down 
from a rolling hill into the placid 
waters of the Ohio River. The 
town is beautiful because it is 
quaint, and quaint because it is 
old. In the days when the sites of many of the 
most important cities of the State were a 
part of a seemingly unlimited expanse of for- 
est, where the solitude was undisturbed save by 
the tattoo of the woodpecker, the barking of the 
wolf, the cry of the whippoorwill and the hoot 
of the owl, and the sound of the woodman's axe 
was unknown to the denizens of the forest, Jef- 
fersonville was an established place. 

In those days treacherous savages lurked in 
the forests and were constantly on the war-path 
because the pale-face was considered a common 
enemy, and because, in their ignorance, any 
other occupation than that of war was supposed 
to be beneath the dignity of a brave man. 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



Hence, the valley of the Ohio, on the Indiana 
side, was the scene of many a bloody conflict. 
The cheerful hardihood and heroic bravery with 
which the pioneer citizens encountered the hard- 
ships of those days not only won the admiration 
and reverence of the people of the universe, but 
have given Jeffersonville a position of local im- 
portance in the history of our country. 

It is the home of the workingman, distinctively, 
as is attested by the numerous simple but cozy 
cottages which nestle picturesquely in its broad 
streets, built at a time when lot space was not 
so expensive but that the thrifty workingman 
could afford a small garden plot in the rear of 
his home for vegetables and a front yard for 
flowers. 

There are no unemployed within its limits, ex- 
cept those who so elect, the home industries em- 
ploying many, and Louisville furnishing employ- 
ment for the rest, as is shown by the vast 
crowds who disembark from the ferryboat which 
plies at regular intervals between the Kentucky 
and Indiana shores or alight from the dinkey- 
trains and interurban cars which cross the great 
bridges which span the Ohio. 

While Jeffersonville has no opera house or oth- 
er amusement resort worth mentioning owing to 
the close proximity of Louisville, the simple and 
wholesome joys and pleasures of life are fully 
appreciated by its citizens. Beautiful and 
spacious Glenwood Park, just beyond the lim- 
its of the town, affords an ideal trysting 



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—2- 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



place for lovers on moonlit summer nights, and, 
free from the shackles of woikaday worries, 
numerous groups of picnickers congregate on 
Sundays and enjoy the coolness of its Arcadian 
bowers. The Columbia and Hiawatha, pic- 
turesque excursion boats, during the summer 
months, for a nominal figure, take passengers 
from the realm of Worry and, to the accom- 
paniment of rag-time melodies and old-time 
love times beautifully rendered by orchestras, 
will transport them to the joyful shores of 
Forgetfulness. 

Almost a century ago the great Common- 
wealth of Indiana, seeking an ideal spot for a 
prison, recognized the advantages of the loca- 
tion and reared the grim structure on the hill- 
top west of the village of Jeffersonville. 

At first, the simple villagers who passed along 
the country road which wound away past the 
gloomy walls, experienced a feeling of awe at 
the terrible fate of the "bad men" whom the 
State had been constrained to banish to the 
"living death." 

It was then known as the Prison South, and 
the pale-faced, hollow-eyed men who emerged 
from its gloom at the expiration of their sen- 
tences, with the look upon their countenances as 
easy to read as a sign board, were avoided as if 
they were plague-ridden. Every door and every 
heart were closed against them, and they almost 
invariably were released only to be returned at 
a future date. 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



But the march of progress and the passage of 
time have wrought many changes. The village 
has become a city, and the unsightly prison that 
once stood alone, grim and gloomy, today is a 
picturesque institution and is surrounded by the 
cottages of a prosperous and happy people. The 
grounds have been beautified and the Adminis- 
tration building, built of stone and brick, pre- 
sents an imposing appearance and enhances the 
beauty of the town. 

The sentiments of the people have changed, 
too, with time. The version of the charity 
which was exemplified in the Garden of Golgotha 
by the Great Leader has become more fully rec- 
ognized by mankind, and the seeds of love, sown 
so long ago, have sprouted and grown, and men 
have become broad-minded and generous. 

And so, the prison that once contained the 
hopeless scum of humanity, dressed in the de- 
grading convict garb and discredited of the pos- 
sibility of having thoughts other than of crook- 
edness, where men were sent to expiate the 
penalty of crimes when vindictiveness was the 
popular theory, today is a reformatory where 
men are sent to be taught the value of honesty 
and good citizenship, and where men are credited 
with being human beings, gone astray, but still 
with the capabiHty of having their better na- 
tures aroused by humane treatment and indus- 
trial and educational instruction; a place where 
those who have been cut adrift from home en- 
vironment and other character-making influences 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
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—4— 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



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in early childhood and have drifted with human- 
ity's ceaselessly flowing tide to the breakers 
along the shores of Distress, may be started 
aright on the Sea of Life. 

One groping soul, through many long months 
of ceaseless battle with self, cheered on by 
Hope, has paused many a time in his weary 
tread of "four steps and a turn" to catch in 
verse the songs Hope sang to him. There was 
a message in every sound and a journey back to 
boyland in nearly all, for these songs are songs 
of youth. The vision of brighter things and 
better days looms up through the mists of the fu- 
ture and Hope stands forth in radiant robes of 
power to sway the soul and lift up the head of 
her hearer. 



It is the first Sunday afternoon in May. The 
windows of the big cell house at the Reforma- 
tory are open and the music of a thousand 
feathered songsters floats in upon the air with 
the sweetness of the flowers' perfume. Many a 
wistful gaze is directed toward the beams of 
sunlight which play upon the bars of the win- 
dows, and many a vagrant thought passes out 



^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
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-5— 



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5HUT.IN SONGS 



to homes that are happy and homes that are 
wretched. The steady tread of many feet on 
stone floors is heard as restless and thoughtful 
men walk up and down in their cells. Four steps 
and a turn. Four steps and a turn. Four steps 
and a turn. Four steps and a turn. 
Hark! 



The mail man approaches; his footsteps I 
hear. 

I've counted his pauses, and now he draws 
near. 

I know he won't stop, for he never be- 
fore 

Has stopped with a letter in front of my 
door. 



Yet how I'd treasure one; no pen could 

tell 
How it would cheer up the gloom of my 

cell. 
I'd keep it a treasure in memory's 

store — 
If he'd stop with a letter in front of my 

door. 



I'd like to have friends, like some of the 

boys. 
To share both alike in my sorrows and 

joys. 
What a pleasure 'twould be to read o'er 

and o'er 
The letters the mail man would leave at my 

door. 



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—6- 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



And then, what a pleasure 'twould be just 

to write. 
O, how I would watch the time in its 

flight, 
Awaiting the day to write come round once 

more — 
If the man with the mail would stop at my 

door. 



Often it brings to me pleasure at 

night 
To think of the good things about which I'd 

write. 
I would think all the month of good things 

galore— 
If he'd stop with a letter in front of my 

door. 



0, comrades of boyhood, are you in like 

plight? 
Are you, too, longing for some one to 

write? 
Perhaps you're in prison on some distant 

shore 
And the man with the mail don't stop at 

your door. 



Do you still cry out the old News Alley 

rhymes: 
"Inter-Ocean, Herald, Post, Journal, News, 

Times? 
Have you always been just as wretched and 

poor? 
Then no letter from you will comq to my 

door. 



*; ^ ^ ^ 



—7— 



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5HUT-IN SONGS 




Perhaps you have risen to wealth and to 
fame, 

And have ceased to remember your com- 
rade's name, 

And have long since forgotten the days of 
yore — 

So the man with the mail won't stop at my 
door. 



Way down deep in my heart to-day there's 
a pain 

And I can't find words to exactly ex- 
plain 

Why it seems to ache more than ever be- 
fore 

When the man with the mail don't stop at 
my door. 



New Year Acrostic. 



Resolved, that during this new year 
Each day I'll coach a heart of cheer; 
Sincere in all things may I be. 
Omitting no task set for me; 
Looking up, with reverent mien 
Upon the holy things, unseen; 
Thanking God for life and health— 
In this world inestimable wealth. 
O may my heart this new year thro' 
Nurse no thought unjust, untrue. 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



Twinkle, TwinRIc, Lucky Star. 



Twinkle, twinkle, lucky star, 
Send your silvery gleam afar 
O'er the space into my cell. 
Hopeful messages to tell, 
I have watched your merry light 
Gleaming brightly night by night. 
And I've fancied that you are 
My own twinkling, lucky star. 



Some think you're pale beside the moon. 
When it's shinning full, in June, 
You are not so large, 1 know, 
Still, you have a brilliant glow. 
And your merry twinkling smile 
Weary hours helps beguile, 
When the night winds softly moan 
And the heart is sad and lone. 



Through the storm clouds in the sky 
Oft your gleams I can't descry. 
Lucky star, when thus you're lost. 
Then my soul is tempest tossed. 
And the world that once seemed fair 
Seems the camping ground of care. 
The clouds drift by and, lo, you are 
Gleaming brightly, lucky star. 



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-9- 




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SHUT-IN 50NG5 



Contrary Winds. 



A hopeful mortal outward fared 

Upon the Sea of Fate. 
His craft was frail, but naught he cared; 

His course seemed fair and straight. 

He sailed along with perfect ease; 

His heart was light and free; 
His brow fanned by the balmy breeze 

That swept the sunlit sea. 

As steadily he sailed along 

Upon his course one day, 
A wind sprang up and all went wrong 

And he was blown astray. 

Contrary winds, that ever blow 

Upon the Sea of Fate, 
Assailed his craft, and clouds hung low 

And added woeful weight. 



He drifted further on astray 
Toward the breakers' thrall. 

The point wherein his trouble lay: 
His rudder was too small. 



He was inclined to sail aright; 

Knew what was best to do. 
His craft was frail and lacked the might 

To face the gale that blew. 



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—10- 



^^ ^^ 






5HUT-IN 50NG5 



He saw the beacon lights that burned 

To warn him of his fate. 
To safer seas he would have turned, 

But drifted till too late. 

The sea, off there, so far away, 

Was enveloped in gloom. 
His frail craft drifted on astray. 

The breakers sealed his doom. 

The shore is lined with ghastly wrecks 

That tell a woeful tale 
Of those who once have trod the decks 

Of crafts that were too frail. 



The Realm of Peace. 



A stranger to God's circle, a lone straggler, in 

despair, 
Kneeled in the gloom of a prison cell, offering a 

prayer 
To the Almighty Ruler of the destinies of 

men. 
Praying for the peace unknown to those in the 

land of sin. 

And God, in His compassion for the lonely 

stranger there. 
Heard the words he uttered in his first though 

fervent prayer. 
And a calm, and ease of conscience, to him 

before unknown, 
Soothed the pain and brought the peace sought 

by the stranger, lone. 



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-11- 



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Kotne Again Tonight. 



The winter wind around the eaves 

A mournful cadence drones. 
In retrospection fancy weaves 

An old tune from its tones. 
Forgotten are the bars and walls 

That mark the prison's site, 
And back to childhood mem'ry calls 

Me home again tonight. 



'T is summer time. The sloping hill 

With daisies is abloom. 
The rose and honeysuckle fill 

The air with sweet perfume. 
A mocking bird's sweet song inthralls 

My soul with pure delight, 
As back to childhood fancy calls 

Me home again at night. 



As I draw near the old home place 

My heart beats fast with joy. 
Again I see my mother's face 

Smile welcome to her boy; 
And when she speaks my name it makes 

The world again seem bright, 
As back to childhood fancy takes 

Me home again tonight. 



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—12— 




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5HUT-IN SONGS 

=• 



And mother sings, with face so calm. 

That song of long ago; 
The song that always proved a balm 

For every childish woe; 
The song my mem'ry ne'er forsakes; 

Through all the years' quick flight 
I hear it oft when fancy takes 

Me home again tonight. 



Oh! Mem'ry brings to me the boon 

I treasure more than gold 
When it brings back that dear old tune 

That mother sang — so old. 
The joy— the pain — I treasure all 

That those loved thoughts invite 
As back to childhood's realm they call 

Me home again at night. 



tie Wanted to Shoot a Man. 



A printer named Sraoot 
Went off on a toot 

And wanted to shoot 
A man; 
But a husky galoot 

Hit him one on the snoot 
And told him to shoot 
The can. 



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-13- 



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King Alcohol. 



I, Alcohol, a kingdom rule 

And claim the earth as my footstool; 

I am the sov'reign of the fool, 

And lord o'er abject slavery. 
Those who drift within my thrall 
When once they learn to know my call, 
From high pedestals often fall 

To lowest depths of knavery. 

I, Alcohol, can boast the fame 
Of luring more souls into shame 
Than any other poison name 

That tongue has yet created. 
My helpers know their duty well; 
With mystic thread they weave a spell 
That lures away to depths of hell 

The multitudes, ill-fated. 

'Tis through me the measureless scope 
That men attain through life's great hope. 
Recedes as sin's perspective slope 

Leads through the vale of sorrow. 
And, aimless, down the tide they go. 
Blown which way the wind may blow. 
Derelicts, who do nut know 

Where they may be to-morrow. 

I, Alcohol, predominate. 
My sceptre is the hand of Fate. 
I make glad hearts grow desolate; 
It is my earthly mission. 



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—14— 



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SHUT-IN SONGS 



A million dooms are yearly sealed; 
A million mortal bodies yield 
To paupers' graves in potter's field, 
Their souls doomed to perdition. 

I shatter hopes and blast men's lives; 

1 break the hearts of loving wives; 

I bring to homes where now joy thrives 

Sorrow's desolation. 
1 change a true man to a knave 
To do my bidding, be my slave; 
Subject the temple that God gave 

To sin's wild desecration. 

The lonely convict in his cell 

Knows my power all too well; 

The hangman, too, sad tales can tell 

That were to him confided. 
The mad-house keeper, too, can say 
I helped his patients on that way; 
And poor-house paupers, old and gray, 

Once by my laws abided. 



Mary's "Lamb." 



Mary's "lamb" (his name was Bill) 

Poor Mary horrified, 
When he went down to Louisville 

And there got "orieyed." 
'Twas Sunday and Home Coming Week, 

The lid was kept on tight. 
He got the booze he went to seek; 

He raised the lid, all right. 



^ ^ ^ ^ 

yg yg yg yg yg 



—15— 



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5HUT-IN SONGS 



My Creed. 




According to opinions of some doctors of the 
soul 

There are many hopeless mortals who are 
doomed, 

For, as I understand it, if we reach the Heaven- 
ly goal, 

It's essential that some creed must be assumed. 



Different interpretations of the Scriptures in 
the Book 

Make a fellow quite uncertain what to be. 

It's about the hardest problem that I ever un- 
dertook 

And the more I read the more it worries me. 



I've a friend who is a Catholic, who says Cathol- 
icism 

Is the only creed to follow right along; 

And another, who is pious, says the right is 
Methodism; 

And another friend declares they both are 
wrong. 



There are Campbellites, Baptists, Christian 

Scientists and Jews, 
Presbyterians and Quakers in the throng. 
If only one I've named is right, now, which one 

shall I choose? 
It is evident that some of them are wrong. 




—16 — 



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SHUT-IN 

=•: 



SONGS 



I believe the man who carries on his face a 

cheerful smile 
And scatters lots of sunshine on the way, 
Will find that in the living this Ufe will prove 

worth while, 
And will be among the chosen Judgment Day. 



I believe the man who takes the Golden Rule 

for his creed 
Will be numbered with the chosen in God's fold, 
And will have his share of all the joys the God 

of all decreed 
That Eternity's great Paradise shall hold. 



The Printshop Towel. 



We've got a towel in our shop — 

It has a dusky hue. 
We sometimes use it as a mop 

To make the floor look new. 



When, at times, it ain't in use 
We stand it with the broom, 

And, if it falls, a sound obtuse 
Is heard throughout the room. 



A relic, in the days gone by, 
Of many printing crews, 

And useful yet, when Sunday's nigh, 
To shine the devil's shoes. 



. ^ ^ ^ ^^ 

<^ c^ yg yg yg: 



—17— 



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5HUT-IN SONG5 



The Road to Hell. 



When silently across the earth 

Night's sombre shadows crept; 
When Nature ceased her songs of mirth, 

And in contentment slept, 
I had a vision in a dream — 

A life tale acted through. 
So true to life did it all seem, 

I'll tell it here to you: 

'Twas in the richest, grandest town 

Our country great can claim; 
A model city of renown — 

Aye, even world-wide fame. 
It was the kind of summer night 

That fills glad hearts with song, 
And on a street aglow with light 

I mingled with the throng. 

Hark ! Sweet music fills the air ! 

The strains are soft and low; 
The kind that sweeps away the care 

That earthly mortals know. 
It issued from a dancing hall. 

With "annex," or saloon. 
(How people hearken to its call. 

Its sweet, seductive tune ! ) 

I passed inside and lingered there, 

The revelry to view, 
And women — girls both young and fair, 

(Whose hearts were yet still true) 

^^ ^8^ ^»^ y^ 
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—18— 







s 



Were following that road of wrong 
That leads but to destroy 

E'en the strongest of the strong 
Who search for fickle joy. 



And boys, young men, just starting in 

Upon life's journey, long, 
Via Destruction Route, through Sin, 

And on the train of Wrong. 
No engineer doth guide their train. 

Which dashes through the night 
With reckless speed. And all in vain 

Shows Danger's signal light. 



Said I: "I'll watch the life career 

Of yonder handsome youth; 
His mind is bright, his look hath cheer, 

His face bespeaks the truth. 
I'll watch the life of yonder lass — 

The fairest of a score — 
And see what Fortune brings to pass, 

What Future hath in store. ' ' 



And so, each passing year I came 

Till just ten years had passed. 
The youth along the road to shame 

Had gone with footsteps fast. 
A convict in a prison cell. 

He wears his life away. 
The cause? Why, Time can tell 

Of thousands such each day ! 

The world, once warm, is growing cold 
To that once winsome lass; 

She's looking haggard, worn and old. 
(Ten years are slow to pass.) 



^ ^ ^ ^ 

^jgg ^i^ yg ^^ yg 



-19- 



5^ ^S^ 5^ ^S^ 3^ 

^^ ^^ ^ yg 

SHUT. IN 50NG5 



She's gone on down the inclined track 
Where thousands yearly go. 

No hand outstretched to hold her back ; 
No one has cared to know. * ♦ * 

Once more I passed the dancing hall 

With "annex," or saloon; 
Once more I heard the thrilling call — 

That sweet seductive tune. 
The sign that hung above the door 

Was changed, the truth to tell 
To those who passed and read it o'er: 

"This is the Gate to Hell." 



Know Yourself. 



Know, first of all, that you have a soul. 
Never believe that the grave is life's goal. 
Omnipotent God had a purpose in view 
When He, in His wisdom, created you. 



Your mind and heart are the meters that tell 
Of things yet to be — whether hopeless or well. 
Upon you, yourself, does the future depend. 
Right over wrong ever wins in the end. 



So, then, inspect yourself throughout today. 
Examine yourself in an impartial way. 
Look for the weak points. Then for the fight! 
Fortify them with a life that is right. 



M?: y^ ^»^ y^ 
€^. (^ ^^ (^. t^. 



—20- 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 

• 



We See Thro' a Glass Darkly. 



We look through goggles, and the light 

Assumes a duller hue, 
And clouds of gloom, like coming night. 

Obscure the heavens, too. 
To "Trouble's Shores" our thoughts take flight, 

And woefully we view 
The gloomy things (that should be bright) 

When seen through goggles, blue. 



We lay aside the goggles, and. 

In a little while 
The world, so great and good and grand, 

With us will gladly smile. 
There's joyousness on every hand 

The hours to beguile. 
And not a thing o'er all the land 

Our peacef ulness to rile. 



When clouds have passed the sunlight's rays 

Then seem to gleam the best, 
And I believe the gloomy days 

Just come our strength to test; 
For, as the ioyous sunlight plays 

Along the pathway's crest. 
Into our minds conviction strays 

That we are truly blest. 



^S^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
Cjgg (i^ yg yg ^a^ 



-21- 



g^ y^ ^a^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 




's dc Use? 



What's de use to worry 'cause de pa- 
pers cuss de meat 

Dat a pusson wid an appetite ter lib 
has got ter eat? 

Dey say tuberculosis afflicts some ob de 
cows, 

An' runnin' sores is on de necks ob 
packin' houses' sows. 

Dem papers can continue wid dere scan- 
dals an' abuse, 

But I ain't gwine ter worry 'bout de 
details. What's de use? 



De papers say de sausages am re-dicu- 
lously bad 

An' folks who hab ter eat it makes a 
picture mighty sad. 

Dey say it's made fum leavin's an' fum 
ol' discarded meat, 

An' dat it isn't fit for eben yaller dogs 
ter eat. 

But when it's in de fryin' pan wid lots 
ob greasy juice, 

I ain't a-gwine ter worry 'bout de de- 
tails. What's de use? 



Dey say de butchers' aprons am all 

covered up wid "goo," 
An' de floor am awful slimy an' de 

walls am dirty, too. 



^ ^ ^ y^ 
^^ yg yg yg yg 



—22— 



>^>Jii|L *9^sMifm. *^^Jttt^ ^V^Jiib. *^>JiiL. 

jSFj j3P^ -3ri -33Fi jap> 

C ^<^ ^^ ^ ^<*g £ 

^1 SHIIT.IN SONr,S Im 



Dey say de mogul packers doan know 

how to run a place, 
An' t'ru de packers' negligence de 

country's in disgrace. 
Folks kin decline ter eat it. Dey hab 

a good excuse, 
But I ain't gwine ter worry 'bout de 

details. What's de use? 



As Good As Any. 



The "make-up" man the Poet sought 

To get a "filler" for a page. 
The Poet thought and thought and thought 

and thought. 
But not a thought could he engage. 

He sat in thoughtful attitude 

And held his forehead in his hand. 

He tried his best to call the mood 

To place the words at his command. 

He tried to think of singing birds 

And babbling brooks and tinkling rills. 

He tried to conjure raptured words 

From thoughts of daisy covered hills. 

Of silv'ry moons to write he yearned; 

He longed to write of twinkling stars. 
But thoughts to earthly things returned— 

To high stone walls and iron bars. 

Said he: "No thought can I engage. 

I know not what it is — amiss — 
But if you have to fill a page. 

Just go and fill it up with this." 

f^ (4^ (iO^ fuSI^ 
Mg yg ^1^ ^a»g ^a<g 



—23- 



i^ i^ s^ 3?^,,^ 
^8^ M^ M^ ^>^ 

5HUT-IN SONGS 



The Captive Mocking Bird. 



A captive mocking bird one day was singing 

Within a cage that hung against the wall; 
The lilting notes sweet memories were bringing 

To those who passed along the darkened hall. 
The little cage was dingy from long using, 

And on it did the sunbeams seldom rest. 
The songs he trilled, to passers so amusing, 

Told of hopes that filled the captive's breast. 



He sang of dells where sweet magnolias growing, 

Filled the air with nature's sweet perfume; 
He sang of balmy breezes, ever blowing; 

Of rolling hills and meadows all abloom. 
His song told of the wildwood's trysting places-— 

Sequestered bowers, shadowy and cool, 
With hanging moss and grape-vine interlaces, 

And willows growing near some crystal pool. 



To many, hearing, visions came of childhood. 

So long forgotten in life's steady fray; 
The tune brought back the songsters of the wild- 
wood. 

That sang around the old home, far away. 
Forgotten were the city's streets around them; 

Forgotten were the turmoil and the strife; 
Forgotten were the thongs of care that bound 
them; 

Again they felt the joyousness of life. 



. ^ ^ ^ *^_ 
€^. t^. %^ ^i^ ^^ 



3^ 3«^ 3?^ :3if^..^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



O, you whose lives are blessed with all the pleas- 
ures 

That life and health and freedom can unfold; 
0, you who rail at fate for lack of treasures, 

Forgetting freedom's joys in search of gold, 
Learn a lesson from this captive and his sorrow, 

And lift your voice in hopefulness and sing. 
For the dawn that is sure to come tomorrow 

The dearest joy that life can hold will bring. 



There's Still a Chance for You. 



In the busy march of progress, moving on along 

life's way. 
Honest men are always wanted— openings are 

made each day. 
Then, be up and busy, brother, there are many 

things to do. 
To the work that's long been waiting! There's 

an opening for you. 



Men of every class are wanted. Can you afford 

to stay away? 
Liberal rewards are granted to the worthy ones 

today. 
Then, through strong endeavor, brother, show 

the world what you can do. 
Give yourself the chance to prove it. There is 

still a chance for you! 



^1^ ^^ yg yg ^agg 



—25- 



:^^ :;m :^^ :^^ :^m 

^^ y^ %^ ^^ 

5HUT-1N SONGS 



Have you wandered from right's pathway? In 

the darkness do you grope? 
Do you imagine all is lost — that there's not a 

ray of hope? 
If you so will it, in yourself, you've a friend to 

see you through. 
Go to work in earnest, brother! There is still a 

chance for you. 



Does your lot in life seem harder than you think 
it ought to be? 

Then remember that you're living in the coun- 
try of the free, 

And that when a man is willing to do the thing 
he should do. 

There's a chance for him, brother. There is 
still a chance for you! 



Are you handicapped with troubles on the 

stream where you would glide? 
Cut the anchor chain that binds them and they'll 

drift on with the tide. 
You can conquer difficulties— be they many, be 

they few. 
Up! To the work in earnest! There is still a 

chance for you! 



He pied a line of type today 

While hurrying to reach the press; 
The devil fixed it up straightway; 

But what it is you'll have to guess: 
s"c:^;— MxbLmLEdpo, 'sepdaRX 



^ ^ ^ ^ 
yg yg yg ^ €^ 

—26— 




3^ ^3^ 3^ 3^ 



^»^ €s^ €«^ ^^ 



5HUT-1N SONGS 



Life is Wliat You Make it. 



If you keep within your breast a heart that's 
true, 

And courageous enough to see you through, 
Time in future may unfold 
All the treasures life may hold— 

All the pleasures and the joys deserved by you. 

Your future may be either great or small; 
It's up to you to either rise or fall. 

Your goal is woe or joy. 

Just as you make it, boy. 
This life is what you make it, after all. 

The greatest failures in the world today 
Have thrown their opportunities away. 

In the end, when hope was lost, 

Then they realized the cost; 
But the debt was none the easier to pay. 

When we wander from ambition's sacred hall 
And enter into crime's disastrous thrall, 

It does no good to prate 

At the unjustness of Fate, 
For life is what we make it, after all. 

The greatest men our country ever knew 
Had vim and energy to see them through, 
And within the Hall of Fame 
Each has placed an honored name- 
Won the laurels that reward men that are true. 

There's lots of room for pictures in Fame's hall. 
On the way temptation's voices loudly call. 

But remember, as you go, 

That your lot is joy or woe; 
That life is what you make it, after all. 



^ y^ ^ y^ 
yg yg yg yg ^^ 



-27- 









SHUT-IN SONGS 




To the Publisher. 



Dear Sir:— 

Enclosed please find a poem for— "return. " 

Just send it back. I don't give a "durn. " 
I just send it up to you 
So that you may look it through. 

I'm rich. I've coin and postage stamps to burn. 



I wrote it in the middle of the night; 
Got out of bed and hunted up a light. 

As I lay awake I caught 

What I thought to be a thought 
That was good, and I thought I ought to write. 



When the birds began to sing and bees to hum 
I awoke — from loss of sleep was feeling grum — 

And arose and read it through, 

And I thought that it might do; 
But of course, maybe, perhaps, you'll think it's 

bum. 



But if, perchance, you fail to mark it "nit," 
And about that time the wind should blow a bit, 
It would floor me with a breath. 
I'd be tickled most to death. 
I'd have a spasm, or "I'd throw a fit." 
Yours truly, 

A. Guy Bugs. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
yg <^»^ ^i^ ^i^ yg 



-28- 



j^ jg ^»^ y^ ^3^ ^»^ £^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



No Place Like Home. 



0, gimme back those dear old days 

When I, a barefoot boy, 
Would roam the shady woodland ways 

With childish glee and joy. 
Arcady's fairest woodland scene 

Is as a monochrome 
Beside the landscape, ever green, 

Around my Southern home. 

I've sailed the Great Lakes' crystal deep 

On moonlit summer nights; 
I ' ve climbed the Rocky Mountains, steep. 

And viewed their wondrous sights; 
I've seen Alaska's sun sink low 

Beyond the hills of Nome. 
It matters not where I may go, 

There is no place like home. 

I've heard our noted singers sing — 

The finest in the land- 
Heard Trinity's great chime bells ring, 

I've heard great Sousa's band, 
But I love the music of the rills 

That wind away in gloom. 
Or sparkle 'neath the blooming hills, 

Sweet with their rare perfume. 

I've bathed at Coney Island's coast 
Dressed up in bathing suit; 

(^ (^ ^^ ^^^ 

?: Cj^ ^jge: ^»^ yg 

-29- 



3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 
(^ (^ ^^ (^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



I've minp^lod with Manhattan's host, 
And while there "shot the chute," 

But f^imme back the swimming place 
Where first I learned to swim, 

And let me slide a mud-bank race 
With dear old playmate Jim. 

I've fished for wily speckled trout 

In crystal mountain brook, 
Where, fast as I could pull them out, 

Aj?ain they'd take my hook, 
But lemme Ash, with pants rolled high, 

For "cats" and "nollywogs" 
In Greenhood's pond (if it ain't dry) 

Among the croaking frogs. 



i 



I've heard the noted Talmage preach; 

I've listened to Sam Jones; 
Heard missionaries sent to teach 

The word in foreip:n zones. 
But lemme hear just once again 

A talk by preacher Hall, 
And hear the meetin' sing a strain 

Of "Jesus Paid it All.'^ 



On sunny days in Lincoln Park 

I've sat 'mid (lowers rare, 
Where winding paths with beauty mark 

A scene most wondrous fair, 
But gimme back the whittled bench 

Down at thegen'ral store. 
Initials carved in every inch, 

And shavings there galore. 



I've dined at many swell cafes 
As time went sweeping by; 



y^ y^^ y^ ^ 
^^^^ yg yg €a^ 



-30- 



5?^ ^S?^ 5?^ ^^ ^5?^ 

^^ Mg ^ ^8^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 

• 



Have eaten meals served all the ways 
Where prices soared up high, 

But ask which way my fancy leans. 
Should I consult my wishes, 

I'd say: Gimme some turnip greens 
Instead of fancy dishes. 



At Central Park I saw some birds. 

With plumes of colors gay. 
That could pronounce the foreign words 

In quite a perfect way, 
But gimme back the mocking bird. 

That trills 'neath heaven's dome 
The sweetest notes I ever heard. 

Around my Southern home. 

Time has wrought since then a change 

Around the dear old town; 
The faces there would all be strange, 

And the old home tumbled down. 
But I a treasure take with me 

Wherever I may roam. 
It is the sacred memory 

Of my old Southern home. 



He Didn't Know the Difrerence. 



Cholly went out hunting for a bear; 
Pretty soon he spied one— over there; 
Then he dropped his handsome gun, 
And he showed that he could run- 
Poor Cholly didn't know it was a hare. 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
^gg ^jgg ^^ €^ yg 

—31— 



3^ 3^ 3?^ S?^ 3?ei 
^j^ €a^ ^»^ €s^ 



5HUT-IN SONGS 

=* =^ 



Wantcd-a Boy. 



A wealthy banker died today, aged three score 
and ten, 

His name enscrolled on honor's roll; with the re- 
spect of men; 

He was esteemed in the business world— a cred- 
it to his race. 

A responsible vacancy must be filled. Wanted— 
a boy for the place. 

A respectable minister died today— after a well 

spent life. 
He leaves behind a host of friends; is mourned 

by children and wife. 
He was loved by all who knew him for sincerity 

and grace. 
A responsible vacancy must be filled. Wanted— 

a boy for the place. 

A lonely convict died today, at the age of thirty- 
eight. 

Thus ends a life of woe and crime, with none to 
mourn his fate. 

He never knew the joys of life. He only knew 
disgrace. 

Another vacancy must be filled. Wanted— a 
boy for the place. 

There are vacancies to be filled where wealth 
and honor, too. 

Await the striving ones today — there's a vacan- 
cy for you. 

Will you choose when you apply that of honor 
or disgrace? 

It's up to you to choose today. Wanted— a boy 
for the place. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^m^ 

^jgg ^1^ ^a^ ^gjs: yg 



-32- 



I g^ y^ g^ M^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



Come Away! 



Come away! Come away! Come away! a voice is 

whispering today, 
To the shady pool where the air is cool and the 

turtles are at play; 
Come away from the gloom of your sweltering 

tomb and pass a day as a boy, 
And breathe the perfume of the meadows, 

abloom, and know that life is a joy. 

Come away from the high stone walls when the 

voice of the summer calls; 
Come away from the toil and the loud turmoil 

to the dell where the cascade falls; 
Come away where the sun's bright sheen haloes 

the leaves of green, 
And perfumes, rare, permeate the air, and the 

wild rose buds are seen. 

But another voice whispers to me: Alas, it 
cannot be! 

For the stone wall high has a sentry nigh and a 
Winchester has he; 

Your passport you must draw from the guar- 
dians of the law. 

For they hold the key to sweet liberty, ascribed 
without a flaw. 

Yet another voice whispers low: Alas, you 

cannot go 
Till you're estranged from the 'old way, ' changed 

and the way of right shall know; 
And right strides must be made and foundations 

must be laid 
For a better life, where rewards are rife, with 

purpose firm and staid. 



. ^ ^ ^ «^_ 
c^ c^ y^ ^ggg Mg 

-33- 



*»^Jiifc> *^ *^S^ '^ '^^iiifc. 

3<4jr^ -iJr^ .><flr^ -^^^ir^ j^ilr^ 
C^^ c^^ c^^ c^^ 



s' 



5HUT-IN SONGS 



's Sweetheart. 



Bill used to have a sweetheart, in days of long 

ago— 
As fair a little maiden as one would want to 

know. 
Her features were as perfect as any sculptor's 

dream, 
And her heart as transparent as any crystal 

stream. 

She lived in a little town way out in Illinois, 
And well can I remember how all the village 

boys 
Used to try to win her love; but it belonged to 

Bill- 
Until he started drinking and rolling down the 

hill. 

How he used to love that girl! No words that I 

could pen 
Would give you a conception, (Bill told me of it 

then.) 
When he'd take her little hands his heart with 

pride would thrill. 
But Bill, he kept on drinking and rolling down 

the hill. 

She never thought Bill would drink — she didn't 

know at first. 
She had no idea he drank, or chewed, or smoked, 

or cursed. 
She thought he'd be successful in everything, 

but Bill 
Kept on drinking whiskey and rolling down the 

hill. 



:$ 






(^ (iB^ <^ ^1^ 

yg ^ajg gag ^<i>g ^1^ 



-34— 



i^ i&{^ Sf^ >^ s?^ 

'" y?; ^^ ^*?^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

=• == 



They used to plan things they'd do when she and 

Bill were wed. 
They talked of the house they'd build to be 

their own homestead. 
They'd dwell in Arcady, where birds their songs 

would trill, 
But Bill was drinking whiskey and rolling down 

the hill. 

And at last she found it out. (Bill told me of 

that night.) 
Red and swollen were the eyes that always were 

so bright; 
Sad and pale the pretty face that caused his 

heart to thrill; 
Trembling was the voice that said: "You're 

rolling down the hill." 

When Sunday came 'round again to church his 

sweetheart came, 
But no smile had she for Bill— he'd lost out in 

love's game, 
Another beau, though, she had. With pain 

Bill's heart stood still — 
And he kept drinking whiskey and rolling down 

the hill. 



If you're rolling down the hill, Oh, stop your- 
self today; 

If you have just common sense don't throw 
your life away. 

When once they've started rolling they're few 
who have the will 

To stop themselves from rolling down, and roll 
back up the hill. 



^ ^ ^ ^_ 

yg ^i^ yg: yg yg 



—35— 



^5^ 3^ 3?«^ 3?*^ 3?^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

=-K =^ 



Little Things. 



Let us heed as we go along the little things on 

the way, 
And treasure them, for they may be available 
some day. 
The majestical mountains that tower so 

high 
Their snow-clad peaks seem to reach the 

And our beautiful land so verdant and grand 
Are made up of atoms and grains of sand 
By the will of our God on High. 

Let us take care, as we go along, of the small 

things each day, 
For they may bring us joy to lighten the load on 
the way. 
The most successful financial concerns 
Pay strict attention to small returns; 
Each little detail will something avail. 
And the man in life who is sure not to fail 
Life's little things never spurns. 

Let us heed, as we go along, the ceaseless pas- 
sage of time; 
Let's strive for life's better things while we 
are in our prime. 
Deeds have been done in one short hour 
To change the course of the world's great- 
est power; 
Nations are changed, human destinies arranged. 
And men from the path of right are estranged 
And hopelessly lost in an hour. 



^f^ ^K ^^ ^^ 

c^ Qge: ^^ yg ^^ 




-36- 



a^ :^m :^^ ^^ ^^ 
y^ ^8^ ^^ y^ 




■f^ 



.f^ 




Wanted, Reliable Man. 



Wanted, Reliable Men! Not in Time 
Has the call been as loud as to-day. 

Not so easy in Time was the ladder to climb, 
And never so large was the pay. 

Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the kind 
That the unemployed armies supply; 

But men who keep busy. On men who "grind," 
As a rule, it is safe to rely. 

Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the shirk. 
Nor the man who is shabby and mean, 

But the man who is cheerful and willing to work 
And the man who is tidy and clean. 

Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the kind 

Who cover mistakes with excuse. 
Men who acknowledge mistakes, you will find. 

Succeed in the end— are of use. 

Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the "mope," 
Nor the man with the pessimist's cry. 

But the man whose being is infused with hope. 
He's the man upon whom to rely. 

Wanted, Reliable Men! Not the kind 
Who are waiting the coming of luck; 

But the kind who refuse to be left far behind; 
The kind with ambition and pluck. 

Wanted, Reliable Men! Oh, it seemed 

I heard the voice calling to day: 
"Awake! O, Awake! Too long hast thou dreamed! 

Too many years wasted away!" 



\ ^ ^ ^^ ^^ 

^g yg ^g yg; yg 



—37— 



^S^ 3^ 3^ ^s^ ^s?^ 
I Mg ^g^ ^?g ^g 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



There's a simple little maxim, just a dozen 
words in all, 

Which 'twere well if ev'ry mortal in his make- 
up would install. 

No motto could be followed that is better, or 
more true; 

It's: Do unto others as you would that they 
should do to you. 

There would be much less sorrow and in joy a 

great increase, 
And the heartaches that are common to the 

multitudes would cease. 
And this world would be a paradise and miseries 

be few 
If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have 

them do. 

There would be no pangs of conscience, no re- 
morse our peace to mar. 

There would be no fear of judgment when we 
stand before the bar. 

There would be no fret and worry of the future 
to ensue 

If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have 
them do. 

Fewer worshipers of mammon and of prisons be 
small need; 

Fewer souls doomed to perdition through a base, 
unmanly greed ; 

Men, in fact, would be as brothers, noble heart- 
ed and true. 

If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have 
them do. 



^1^ (^ ^^ ^^ 

^gr ^aer «^ yg ^g 



—38— 



^ 1^ "^^^^^ 
yg y^ y^ M^ 

SHUT-IN 50NG5 



Such a simple rule to follow, scarce a dozen 
words; but boys, 

If we'd follow it, it would bring to us happi- 
ness and joys. 

And our sun would shine out brighter and our 
sky would be more blue 

If we'd always do by others as by us we'd have 
them do. 



He Had an Ache. 



He went into the Doctor's shop — 
He said he had an ache 

And wanted stuff to make it stop — 
Some pleasant stuff to take. 



Some cooling draught like frozen cream. 
Quite pleasant to the taste, 

And privilege to sit and dre?m 
While hours went to waste. 



He wanted sympathetic looks 
And special tender care. 

He wanted them to make the cooks 
Produce some extra fare. 



Of course he didn't wish to shirk 

His duties altogether. 
Because he dearly loves to work 

In summer's warmest weather. 



. ^ ^ ^ *^_ 

<^ c^ <j^ yg yg 



-39- 



I ca^ ^8^ y^ ^^ 

5HUT-IN 50NG5 



The Doctor didn't know enough (?) 
To know what he should take, 

And gave to him some bitter stuff 
To soothe his aching ache. 



And so, he registered a kick. 

At once, right then and there ! 

He told the Doctor that the sick 
Should have much better care. 



The Doctor tried to find the place 
Where ached his little acne. 

But not a symptom could he trace. 
Thought he: "Here is a fake." 



But he insisted in a way 

That could not be denied. 

The Doctor hates to turn away 
A man unsatisfied. * * * * 



He got his treatment; got it square 

Upon the pants behind; 
And footprints left impressions there 

As well as on the mind. 



It was a bitter dose to take. 
But had to be endured. 

It worked a wonder, for the ache 
Was permanently cured. 



Exit- Swish !!! flip !!! flop !! ! bang! / J ! ! 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

^^ yg yg yg yg 



-40- 



I ^»gg Mg ^i^ Mg 

SHUT-IN 50NG5 

— -^ — 



Those Who Help Themselves. 



The saving grace of God is great, 
And to no class is it reserved, 

For, to each man the hand of Fate 
Dispenses blessings as deserved. 



And so, 'tis w^ell to bear in mind 
While in the world wherein man delves 

The best maxim for humankind: 
God helps those who help themselves! 



Philosophers have often told 
In generations past and gone 

Those words that never will grow old, 
As Time is ever passing on. 



Historians of old, forsooth. 
In dusty volumes on the shelves, 

Have chronicled the sacred truth: 
God helps those who help themselves! 



Get busy, brother! Do it now ! 

In our behalf Fate has decreed. 
Old Common Sense will tell us how 

We may be helped out in our need. 



Remember that our lot on earth 
Is as we make it here ourselves. 

We are adjudged by our true worth. 
God helps those who help themselves! 



. ^ ^ ^ ^ 
Cagg ^i^ ^ij?g yg yg 




—41- 



r ^^ y^ y?^ M^ 



% 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Trips to Boyland. 



It's just a little country place, 

So quiet and so small 
That on the country's maps a trace 

Can scarce be round at all. 
So small that when a train is due 

Upon the M. & O. 
The town en masse (except a few) 

Go down to see it go. 



Shubuta ! Unpoetic ? Quite ! 

And Mississippi, too ! 
But when the stars come out at night 

And day-time's toil is through 
In fancy back I love to roam 

And view again with joy 
Familiar scenes around the home 

Where I lived, when a boy. 



The row of stately oaks I see 

That used to lend their shade 
To John and Will and Frank and me 

When we beneath them played; 
And past the old school-house the pines 

Which circled Greenhood's Pond; 
The woods where grew the muscadines 

And winter grapes— beyond. 



I see again the swimmin' hole. 

We called it slipp'ry banks. 
My ! What fun to slide and roll 

And play off boyish pranks ! 

^^ ^4l^ ^^ (^ 
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—42— 



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SHUT-IN 50NG5 M 



The "belly-busters" that I took 

I never will forfrc't. 
When I in fancy backward look 

I think 1 feel 'em yet. 

I see the graveyard on the hill, 

Just as it used to be. 
A mocking bird's song, low and shnll. 

In fancy comes to me. 
And then the pain -it oft has found 

Its way into my breast 
When, looking back, I see the mound 

Where father is at rest. 

It's just a little country nlace, 

So quiet and so small 
That on the country's maps a trace 

Can scarce be found at all. 
But when the toil of day is o'er 

I know no greater joy 
Than fancying I'm there once more, 

A little barefoot boy. 



Raining. 



Hail' Hail! to the king -all acclaimmg. 
Hail! Hail! to the king-voices strammg 

But it made the king sore 

And he let out a roar, • • , 

"How dare you all hail when I m reigning! 



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-43- 




To Do the Best Wc Can. 



When we read of the achievements of the great 

men of the times, 
Whose names and deeds are known to all in 

near and distant climes, 
Our failures to contribute something, be it e'er 

so small, 
Bring discouragement and worry, and. cause our 

struggling hopes to fall. 
Oh, it's then we need a helper, for when once 

we start to mope. 
It is easier to travel down than up life's rugged 

slope. 
And a good thing to take with us as we travel 

o'er life's span 
Is this one determination, "to do the best we 

can." 

When God above created all us mortals here 

below. 
It was His wish in certain things that some of 

us be slow. 
If all the men upon the earth were great and 

none were small 
There would be none to walk along the narrow 

paths at all. 
And if our lot in life be low, our hearts may 

still be true. 
And we may do with right good will the things 

we have to do. 
So let our hearts be strong and clean, and fol- 
low out this plan: 
To do the things we know are right— "to do 

the best we can." 



$ 



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. ^ ^ ^ ^^ 

<^ <^ <^ ^^ag yg 



-44— 




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The man who idly sits and whinos because his 

chance is poor, 
And waits for opportunity to knock upon his 

door, 
Is sure Lo overlook the chance if it should come 

alon^; 
In everythint? he undertakes there's always 

something wronji^. 
Towards the striving man is held the hand of 

brotherhood. 
For men who do the best they can are doing 

pretty good. 
Forward, brothers! Leave behind the shirking 

whiner's clan! 
And let's resolve to start today "to do the best 

we can." 






Blue Sunday. 



To a soda fount one afternoon, 
In a town where there was no saloon, 
Went a man for a drink- 
Gave the druggist a wink. 
He winked at him often and soon. 

His bearing suggested but bliss, 
And at first there seemed nothing amiss; 
But when homeward he went 
He was limber and bent, 
A he .^ were 

n g^ that rt Hke 

d ^ tracks = this. 



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—45— 



K ^SFi :^SFi :^ a^ '^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



"Look Up! Lift Up!" 



Within the grand old Holy Book 

Are many lessons, fraught 
With pow'r divine, if we but look. 

In words of precious thought. 

But as today I slowly scanned 

Its sacred pages o'er, 
A passage proved a great command 

More plainly than before. 

Look up! Lift up! These words contain 

A rule to make life grand 
If we but let this maxim reign 

And follow its command. 



Lift up the fallen and the weak, 

Assist them in distress, 
Teach those in darkness how to seek 

The light of happiness. 

Lift up the criminal and guide 
His wavering footsteps right; 

Teach him the scope of life is wide 
And the light of hope gleams bright. 

Lift up the ignorant, for there 

A sacred duty lies. 
Lift up the heathen— with them share 

The great Eternal prize. 



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—46— 



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SHUT-IN 50NG5 



Lift up the aged and the poor, 
The lame, diseased and blind. 

This rule was practiced o'er and o'er 
By Christ for humankind. 

Lift up the tempted from the slough 

Of life by word or deed. 
It seems a little thing to do, 

Yet God doth give it heed. 

Lift up neglected brothers when 

They need a helping hand. 
As long as man and earth have been, 

This has been God's command. 

"Look up!" and then the skies are fair 

Which tint a world of joy 
That hardships, sorrow's pangs and care, 

And time cannot destroy. 



The Blessed. 



fi 



Blessed is them what don't expect nothin', 

For they don't never git left. 
Blessed is them what takes all the bluffin', 

That some people handles so deft. 

It's a mighty good plan to know where you're 
goin' 

As you mosey along on life's road. 
Don't let your hones rise on every breeze blowin'. 

Jea' say: "I got to be showed!" 



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—47- 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

~ -K =^ 



The Sage of East Aurora. 



When man the power doth possess 
To banish cares that oft depress 
With words so easy to express— 

The cares that disconcert us, 
'Tls natural that we believe 
That 'tis God's will he should achieve 
The purpose sought- God's message leave 

With us, O, Fra Elbertus. 



You preside o'er no parsonage; 

You claim no clergy's patronage; 

You sought no text from Scripture's page; 

You sought not to convert us. 
The sunlight of your great soul spread 
And clouds of gloom before it fled. 
And back to better things you led 

Us all, O, Fra Elbertus. 



And yet it was a sermon, grand, 
That lingers on with its command 
For usefulness, time to withstand, 

As passing years divert us. 
And broader seems the future's scope, 
With which it once was hard to cope. 
And brighter gleams the star of hope 

For us, O, Fra Elbertus. 



"I care not what a man has been, 
But what his future is!" Ah! then 
You spoke the words to hopeful men 
That never will desert us; 



^8«^ ^S^ ^J^ ^^ 
(^ t^. t^. ^^ ^^ 



-48— 



r 'yg yg M^ ^*^ fii^l 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



=•: 



And when you said "a man's success 
Is measured by his usefulness. 
And honesty, and cheerfulness," 
We saw, O, Fra Elbertus. 



Roney's Boys. 



When at, last the many troubles of this life shall 

be o'er. 
And my soul across the River Styx shall fare, 
I hope (if Brother Peter lets me through the 

pearly door) 
I'll see Professor Roney's boys up there. 
If the Choir Invisible above more joy to hosts 

could bring 
Than the Roney boys have brought us here below, 
If their songs inspire the angels as t.hey do us 

when they sing. 
There are happy times in Heaven, then, I know. 

I believe their superb singing would admit into 
the fold 

Roney's bovs and, yes— the Professor, too— 

For the good that they accomplish in words can- 
not be told. 

(We are judged, you know, by good that we 
may do.) 

So if Brother Peter lets me through the gate to 
Heaven's joys 

When I have climbed at last the golden stair, 

I'll begin to scan the faces, seeking Roney and 
his boys. 

They'll be among the chosen! They 11 be there. 










-49- 







5HUT-1N SONGS 



Shall I Still Linger Behind ? 



When I know in this world there is much I can do 

In the cause of earth's great common good, 
And the world has need for men who are true— 

A universal brotherhood, 
Shall I, with the laggards, still linger behind, 

My share of life's duties to shirk? 
Or shall I the laws of the Creator mind 

In doing my share of the work? 



When I know that the world is calling today 

For men with stamina and will; 
When 1 know in the ranks where is thickest the 
fray 

There's a vacancy each day to fill, 
Shall I, with the laggards, still linger behind. 

The duties I owe the world shun. 
Contributing naught for the good of mankind, 

When there is so much to be done? 



When I know just two roadways lead on thro' 
this life, 

Which travelers follow along; 
That one way has pleasures won only thro' strife. 

And the other leads lazy men wrong. 
Shall T, with the laggards, still linger behind 

With those whose ambitions are few? 
Or shall I be manly — the unshirking kind. 

Who gladly do all they can do? 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

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—50— 






i 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



=*: 



When I know I shall stand at the great judg- 
ment seat 

When my soul shall be summoned from earth, 
And know it shall be, then, too late to retreat 

From a life of so little worth, 
Shall I, with the laggards, still Hnger behind, 

My share of life's duties to shirk? 
Or shall I the laws of the Creator mind 

In doing my share of the work? 



Thanksgiving. 



When our great storeroom of troubles is about 

to overflow, 
And it seems each day is adding to our lot some 

other woe. 
And the constant fume and worry seems to 

bring out lines of care. 
And we're ready to acknowledge that our load 

is hard to bear, 
O, it's then that we should notice that our 

grieved and sorrowed plight 
When compared to that of others seems to 

dwindle to a mite. 
We should then forget the sorrows that we 

meet along the way 
And remember just the blessings, when it comes 

Thanksgiving Day. 

Have we still our health and vigor? Have we 

still the joy of youth? 
Have we eyes to view the sunlight? Have we 

still the love of truth? 



. ^ ^^ «S^ ^»^ 
fajg- caag: ^agg ^agg ^agg 



-51— 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

— • 



Have we home and friends to love us? Cher- 
ished memories long past? 

Is the sunlight of the future breaking through 
the clouds at last? 

O, then, let us all acknowledge that our lot is 
not so bad; 

That our lives are filled with blessings that 
should ever make us glad, 

And our present little worries like the mist will 
fade away. 

Let us thank the Blessing Giver when it comes 
Thanksgiving Day. 

It's just like old Human Nature, when we're 

feeling kind o' blue, 
To believe our troubles hurt us more than other 

people's do — 
And to think that all the blessings go the other 

people's way. 
And we've nothing to be thankful for when it 

comes Thanksgiving Day. 
O, but if we look around us, then we cannot fail 

to see 
Some other struggling brother more unfortunate 

than we. 
If in life's scales the sorrows and the blessings 

we will weigh. 
We'll find much to be thankful for when it comes 

Thanksgiving Day. 



0, night winds, tell me with your song: 

"It won't be long !" 
With your smile, O, silv'ry moon, 

Just tell me: "Soon!" 




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-52— 



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I'm Going to Be an Optimist. 



I'm going to be an optimist 

And always wear a smile. 
Of course the world with fog and mist 

Is cloaked once in a while; 
But what's the use to worry then, 

And fret, and fume, and pine? 
It's best to smile and think of when 

The sun is sure to shine. 

I'm going to have a hopeful view 

Of ev'rything I see. 
I've noticed that the folks who do 

Can very happy be ! 
What's the use to wear a face 

That's sorrowful and long? 
In fear disasters might take place 

And ev'rything go wrong. 

This world needs folks to bring it cheer 

And happiness and light. 
Too many people bring it fear 

And gloominess and night. 
I'm going to let my light shine out 

Along my brothers' way; 
Their burdens lighten, and their doubt 

Endeavor to allay. 

I'm going to be an optimist 

For good that it will do. 
A little smile will oft assist 

A brother when he's blue. 
I'm going to wear a pleasant smile 

And coach a heart of song. 
The folks I know who are worth while 

Smile as they go along. 



■.<^> 



C^g Mg ^8^ ^: ^^ 



—53- 



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The Prisoner's Dream. 



I had a dream 

The other night. 
I saw a gleam 

Of candle light 
Across the fields, 

With festive dress, 
Where Nature yields 

To Spring's caress. 



"Welcome, my child! 

I'm glad 'tis you! 
How hast thou whiled 

The time? Been true 
To teachings learned 

In childhood's school? 
Or hast thou spurned 

Them, as a fool. 



Within the door 

Of a home place, 
Just as of yore, 

I saw a face 
That took me back 

Across the years 
Along the track 

Of joys and tears. 



"Hast always trod 

The path of right 
Marked out by God, 

Illumed with light? 
Or is thy name 

Inured with sin 
And woe and shame — 

Scoffed at by men?' 



'Twas mother there. 

Plain could I trace 
A look of care 

Upon her face. 
Gray was the hair 

Once bright as gold; 
Face marked with care. 

Once young— now old. 



And I awoke 

At song of bird. 
The voice that spoke 

At night, I heard 
Throughout the day 

Till night-time gloam. 
It seemed to say: 
Come home ! Come home ! 



^^ ^ ^ ^ 

^^ ^8^ yg yg ^g 



-54— 



>> Ss«i ^ '^_^ 

Ms: ^i^ ^^ '^ ' 




Patrick's Dilemma. 



One summer day along Broadway 

Strolled Patrick J. O'Dell. 
He says, says he, "Away wid me 

To some big foine hotel. 
A 'swell' I'll play on this pay-day; 

Oi'll do the thing up right. 
Oi'll take me pride wid me inside 

An' feed me appetite." 

A waitress there with frizzled hair 

And ruffles on her clothes. 
Tall, fair and fat, smiled down on Pat, 

And he forgot his woes. 
And then says she, "What shall it be?" 

And gave to Pat a stare. 
And Pat got sore as he glanced o'er 

That hotel bill of fare. 

Some "Rooshun" word Pat never heard, 

I think it was Menu. 
"Ah-rah, ' ' says Pat, ' 'jist bring me that; 

Oi think that it will do." 
The waitress laughed. Says Pat, "Ye're 
daft." 

And then she says to Pat: 
"Some other thing I'll have to bnng. 

There is no more of that." 

Pat colored red up to the head. 

It made him awful sore 
Because he thought the waitress ought 

To go and fry some more. 



€ ^ C^ Xgg ^i^ Mg 



—55- 



^5^ 3?«i 3?«i 3?<^ 3?^ 
y^ y^ y^ M^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



"Well thin, Oi say, bring Consomme," 
(As slow he spelled it through), 

" 'Twill be too late; I cannot wait 
Till you fry that Menu." 



Then Patrick learned when she returned 

And on the table cloth 
She placed a bowl (upon my soul) 

'T was common mutton broth. 
With angry frown he drank it down 

With one disgusted swoop. 
At his request, without a rest 

Four times she brought him soup. 



Says Pat O'Dell, "Has this hotel 
Got ennything but soup? 

Oi want to know before I go- 
Don 't take me for a dupe." 

With lifted brow and solemn bow 
The waitress answered "Sure." 

Away she strode and Paris mode 
She served him dejeuner. 

That waitress, fat, brought back to Pat 

A feast with out a flaw. 
Most ev'ry dish that heart could wish 

Before him Patrick saw. 
The whole entree, and fricasse, 

And dressing, mayonnaise, 
Pate de foi gras, and cabbage slaw. 

Potatoes, lyonnaise. 



Two kinds of pie then met his eye- 
One a lemon custard. 

And one a peach, just in his reach. 
Which made Pat feel quite flustered. 

^)^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

yg ^>ge: Q^ ^>^ yg 

—56— 



1^ a^ ::^ :^m ::^ 
^^ ^^ ^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



The latest bakes of fancy cakes 
That could the palate tickle, 

A chafing dish of baked white fish; 
A jar of fancy pickle. 



Poor Patrick looked at those things 
cooked 

And fumbled with his knife. 
Said he, with pain, "No chance again 

Like this in all me loife. 
Can't eat a bit. Oi'll have to quit. 

Me stomach's got the "croup." 
Such fancy chuck Oi never sthruck 

And Oi am full uv soup. ' ' 



A Pathetic Illustration. 



A fly flew over from Flint 
And found a fine feast in a plate. 

He leaped in and fared without stint 
And the sticky stuff sealed up his fate. 

A man eating syrup and rye, 

Into which the little fly flew, 
Was hopelessly blind in one eye— 

Of the poor fly's plight never knew. 

Ere the poor little fly could take flight 
He went the way many flies go. 

The man had a good appetite; 
Of that fly to this day doesn't know. 

Moral: Look before you leap. 




—57— 



:^m :^m :^m :^m :^m 
I €3^ y^ y^ M^ 

5HUT-IN SONGS 

-K 



Some People of the World. 



There are many useless people in this world, 
without a doubt, 

With whom the world, in general, could far bet- 
ter do without. 

Though this statement sounds uncharitable, 
still, it will be found 

That it's just as true as gospel, if you take a 
look around. 

There's the man who's always tired, and the 

man who's done his share; 
There's the man who's always lazy and the man 

who doesn't cai-e; 
There's the man who's always growling, and 

the man who is a shirk; 
There's the fellow who endeavors to keep other 

men from work. 



scoffer who's a howling 
try to straight- 



There' s the atheistic 

hypocrite— 
When he sees some other fellow 

en up a bit; 
Ever at his thoughtless braying like a jackass or 

a mule. 
Too ignorant to know that people know he is a 

fool. 

There's the man who's always grumbling and 

the man who will not smile; 
There's the man who's always frowning and the 

man who's tongue is vile; 

^^ ^j^ ^8^ ^«^ 
^^ yg yg Mg yg 



—58— 



^1^ y^ 4g^ ^<^ £' 

SHUT-IN SONGS P 

There's the man who is conceited and the man 
with vulgar wit; . ^, 

There's the "wolf dressed in sheep's clothmg 
and the fraud who thinks he's "it." 



There are many other people in this world, there 
is no doubt, 

Whom humanity, in general, can't do at all 
without; . 

There's the faithful, earnest Christian with a 
purpose hiah, in view. 

With the hopeful spirit and with sweet content- 
ment, too. 

There's the man who's ever ready to give out 
encouragement. 

And the man who's ever busy in dispersing dis- 
content; 

There's the man who's brave and manly when 
life's troubles come to rile; 

There's the man who, in emergency, can do the 
thing worth while. 

There's the man who's always honest and the 

man who's always true; 
There's the man who's energetic and does all 

that he can do; 
There's the man who's optimistic and the man 

who does his best; 
There's the man who lends a helping hand to 

brothers when distressed. 



There's the man who holds in reverence the 

teachings of the Book; 
There's the man who holds no brother down by 

deed or word or look ; 



? ^ ^ ^ ^^ 

c^ <^ ^igg: ^^ yg 



-59- 



j5?^ jSS*^ j5f*^ j^^ j5S^ 
ca^ Q^ y^ ^^ i 



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r. 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



There's the m:in who never heeds at all the prat- 
tle of the fool; 

There's the man who tries to live according to 
the Golden Rule. 

But of all the world's great blessings I am sure 
that you will say. 

That the greatest is the man whose light of 
cheer shines on life's way. 

We all know it is contagious and we know be- 
yond a doubt 

That the man who scatters cheerfulness the 
world can't do without. 



Have a Purpose in Life. 



Like a ship without a rudder, like a derelict of 

doom. 
Drifting in the darkness, in the shadows and the 

gloom. 
Is the man without a purpose who, himself, will 

not believe 
That he possesses talents attainments useful to 

achieve. 

Some inherit intelligence, which is Heaven's 
greatest gift, 

Yet they never have a purpose and are hopeless- 
ly adrift 



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I <^gg: ^agg «j^ yg ^^ € 



—60— 




i 



On the fatal sea of darkness wl)t>i(> llic dcrolicts 
of life , . , , 

AimU'ssly are drift injjc to'ard siii s linldeMi rooKn 
and strife. 

Let ainliition's cloak surround us, tluil an object 

hinli '" view 
And a purpose (irm to attain it shall keep us 

ever true. 
F]nvironinent doesn't matter, for e'en men ui 

prison may, 
If they have the ri^lit intentions, do some ^J^ood 

deed ev'ry day. 

In the cell-house and the workshop each could 

do some kind of KOod; 
Each could set a K'ood exam|)le (have a purj)ose) 

if he would, 
And by some thoughtful action or some simple 

word or deed, 
Help some burden-luden brothc'r m his trouble 

and his need. 

'Cro.ss the j^loomy stretch of darkness where' de- 
serted ones still K>'opt^. 

Throuich (lie fo.>j:s and mists and shadows beams 
the beacon li^ht of hope. 

It f^uides the struf^^iflinp: derelicts from darkness 
into li^hl. 

It K'uides them to a purpose and tiiat purpose- 
to do ri^^ht. 

One can lay the iirm foundation of a hopeful 

cherished y^oal; 
Of worthy aspirations ere he fifoes out on parole. 
The re(iuirem(!nts will surely be much easier to 

fuHill 
If in life he has a purpose, an ambidon, and a 

will. 



c^^ ^ ^ *^" J 



-61- 



:;m :^^ :^^ ^^^ :^^ 
M^ yg y^ y^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 

— • 



Just Fifteen Years Ago. 



Things have changed in the neighbarhood since 

you left the district, Bill. 
Just the ruins at the old mill pond is left of the 

old grist mill. 
The cow bells long have ceased to ring and the 

grass has ceased to grow 
On the meadows where the cows would graze 

just fifteen years ago. 

A factory of stone and brick, where the meadow 
was, now stands, 

Which keeps a-going night and day and hires 
five hundred hands. 

Electric lights long since replaced the coal oil 
lamp's dull glow 

That lit the homes in the neighborhood just fif- 
teen years ago. 

An electric line and a great steam road have 

palaces on wheels 
That whirl past the ruins at the old mill pond, 

and the automobiles 
Pass each day along the road where we drove 

the oxen, slow. 
Before you left the neighborhood just fifteen 

years ago. 

The district school at the road forks where the 

elder bushes grew, 
Where we went to school and learned to spell 

the blue-back speller through. 



^«^ yg ^ ye: yg 

—62— 



:3^ 3^ ^3^ :3^ :s^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



Has been torn dowai and a big brick school now 

makes a mighty show 
In the clearing where the old school stood just 

fifteen years ago. 



The girl you loved in your boyhood days— the 
girl with the locks of gold, 

The little girl with the azure eyes and the form 
of sylph-like mold, 

Is married now and her children to the big brick 
schoolhouse go— 

They now have sweethearts as we had just fif- 
teen years ago. 



The boy who used to wear the pants with the 

patches in the seat; 
Who walked five miles to the district school 

through rain and snow and sleet; 
Who split the wood and did the chores— whose 

folks were poor and low 
Is a Congressman— the boy we knew just fifteen 

years ago. 



The boy who lived in the big brick house, with 

clothes from the city store, 
With hands made soft by an idle life and the 

fine kid gloves he wore. 
One day went away to the city, where life was 

not so slow. 
And he broke the hearts that loved him best 

just fifteen years ago. 



$' 



The old homestead you knew so well has gone to 

ruin, Bill, 
The doors are gone and the hoot owls come and 

go from the house at will. 

« ^ €^ €^ 

c^ ^^ ^gg yg ^^ 

-63— 



^s^ :s^ :s?«^ ^Sf*^ :s^ 
^^ <i^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



The chimney's down and the roof's caved in; no 
more the flowers grow 

In the front yard where the roses grew just fif- 
teen years ago. 

The path that led to the cool, clear spring, that 
bubbled from the hill 

Is all growTi up with dank, foul weeds— forsaken, 
lone and still. 

And the mock bird sings above two mounds, 
where the weeping willows grow, 

And resting there loved ones you left just fif- 
teen years ago. 



The Song He Sang of Mother. 



I strolled at leisure on a street one balmy sum- 
mer night 
In a distant city many miles away. 
I passed a lager beer saloon where lights were 
shining bright, 
Where young men met to pass the time away. 
One young man strummed on his guitar with 
true musician's skill 
And accompanied a song he sang so well; 
And as I listened to the song my eye;- began to 
fill. 

He sang the song so ever good to tell. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



—64- 



I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

— • 



Chorus: 

O, mother, dear, I love you more and more each 
passing day; 
I know you are the truest friend on earth; 
And as your curling golden locks are turning into 
gray 
I realize and treasure more your worth. 



Next day I passed a squalid home where life's 
joys were unknown 
And poverty and sorrow held full sway, 
I saw a careworn woman as she sat there all 
alone. 
Whose golden locks had long since turned to 
gray. 
And then out through the open door and past the 
woman there, 
Without a word of greeting or a smile, 
Her boy passed by and gave to her no word, or 
thought or care. 
It was the boy who sang so sweet the while. 
Cho: 



0, what a change it would have made in that 
lone woman's life 
Had words of love been spoken by that boy. 
Life's sunshine and gladness would have mingled 
with the strife 
And moments of her days been filled with 
joy. 
Each day her hair grew grayer and each day 
came Imes of woe 
To mar that patient face now growing old. 
While to the lager beer saloon each night her 
boy would go. 
To strangers there these words he often told. 
Cho: 



(^ ^^ ^i^ ^^ 
^^^ yg yg yg 




—65- 



y^ ^8^ M^ M^ 






SHUT-IN 50NG5 



Holiday on the Farm. 



The man inside the prison saw the sun in glory 

rise 
From behind the distant hilltops and from the 

radient skies 
Shine on the distant rural scene, beyond the walls 

of gloom. 
From whence into his cell was wafted scents of 

sweet perfume. 

Said he. "I'd like to go away and wander on at 

will 
Among the sweet potato trees that shade some 

distant hill. 
And see the farmers pluck the red apples from 

the vines. 
I'd pick the sweet pineapples from the tops of 

lofty pines. 



"I'd search the meadows for the rabbits and 

their eggs; 
From the nests I'd get the young ones and stand 

them on their legs. 
I'd get some fishing tackle and stroll down to 

the brook. 
And 'neath the shade of wheat trees I'd sit and 

cast mv hook. 



"I'd help to mow the fodder with the cultivator 

knife: 
I'd help to pick the cabbage for the farmer's 

buxom wife; 



f 



y^ ^ ^ ^ 



-66— 



I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 






#^ 



f 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



=•: 



I'd break the yearling horses to rig and saddle, 

too, 
I'd hitch the cow up to the plow and see what 

he would do. 

"I'd watch the turkeys gobble all the hay with 

quack and flutter; 
I'd go into the barnyard and see the cow give 

Dutter. 
And most of all I would like to hear the old 

"horse laugh;" 
I'd watch 'em "shoe" the chickens and I'd 

curry off the calf. 

"I'd go out to the old farm well and pump some 
buttermilk; 

As critic, I'd examine the fine texture of corn 
silk; 

I'd pick the pumpkins from the trees and from 
the hedge picK brushes; 

I'd keep a wary eye out for dangerous bull- 
rushes. 

"I'd help the hired man do the chores, I'd pick 

the geese and ducks; 
I'd carry to the horse the slops, and feed the 

pigs on shucks; 
I'd help to husk the squashes and I'd help to dig 

the peas; 
I'd help to gather melons from the watermelon 

trees. 

"I'd help to milk the cattle for the cream and 

butterine 
And whey and applebutter and oleomargerine. 
I don't know how they do it, but before I came 

away 
I'd see how those farmers raise those monstrous 

mows of hay." 




i 



^ y^ y^ <^ 

c^ ^>^ yg yg yg 



—67— 



3^ 3^ 3^ 3I<^ 3^ 

€«>g y^ €«^ M^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 




Down the River of Life. 



There's an isle in the River of Life called 

Distress, 
And another isle bearing the name of 

Success. 
Souls bound for Eternity pass just within 

reach 
Of Distress and Success— quite near unto 

each. 



There's a craft called Weakness. 'Tis 

wholly unmanned, 
Rudderless, just drifting, without a guiding 

hand, 
And it drifts to the eddies, the rocks and 

the reefs 
Surrounding the shores of Distress, with its 

griefs. 



There is also another craft, called Self- 

Control; 
It keeps steadily on till it reaches its 

goal. 
It sails safely by all the rocks of 

Distress, 
And is anchored at last in the harbor 

Success. 



1? €S^ ^J^ ^8fl^ ^IS^ 
^8^ Cajg. ^^ (0^ €8^ 



—68- 



^^ :S^ 3^ 3?»^ 3?e^ 

Mg ^^ ^8^ ^i^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



What You're Going to Be. 



I heard a song some years ago; the chorus reads 

this way: 
"It makes no difference what you were, but 

what you are today." 
No truer song was ever sung by songster, young 

or old; 
With tender words and music sweet a sermon, 

grand, is told. 

Some lesson every day we learn, as on our way 

we go, 
Each seeking for life' pleasures, but oft'times 

findino; woe. 
It makes no difference who we are, nor what 

our lot may be, 
As we sow, so shall we reap. To this you must 

agree. 

Do you linger at the bottom of life's hill? Then 
take this rule: 

"Don't hand some other fellow at the bottom 
ridicule" 

Because from the path of right you know he's 
gone astray. 

How near the summit of the hill are you, your- 
self, today? 

You may have a host of friends — be blessed 

with riches, too, 
An advantage o'er the lowly ones whose friends 

on earth are few. 



. ^ ^ ^ ^_ 
^^ ^^ yg ^^^ yg 



-69— 



^5?^ ^5^ ^5^ ^^ 3^ 
^^ ^^ y^ M^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



Those who've had advantages, but have thrown 

them all away, 
Are no better than the friendless. It's what 

you are today! 

If you win out in life's battle you must get into 

the fray. 
And if way down at the bottom is where you are 

today. 
It's up to you to climb the hill. Here's a max- 
im, you'll agree: 
"Not what you were, nor what you are, but 

what you're going to be." 



Logical Verses. 



If you do some worthy action 

Through your energy and wit. 
It will not increase a fraction 

If you go and boast of it. 
The mule's hee-haw is long and loud, 

But bear this fact in mind. 
The danger to the gaping crowd 

If from his heels behind. 

The empty wagon on its way 

Will make a lot of noise; 
A deficient army in the fray 

The biggest bluff employs. 
The locomotive's sizzing steam 

Much power did contain, 
But, lost upon the air, doth seem 

Poor force to pull a train. 



^J^ ^J^ ^Jg^ €^ 

yg yg ^j^ ^^ yg 

—70— 







If you have an accomplishment 

Of which you feel quite proud, 
Toot your horn to some extent, 

But not too long nor loud. 
The bass drum makes a deaf'ning sound; 

Its echoes last a minute. 
The noise is due, it will be found, 

To the fact there's nothing in it. 



The barking dog is fierce to hear. 

And is a vicious member; 
But a silent skunk, on drawing near. 

Can make him "hunt the timber." 
A roaring bull may roar away 

And make an awful racket. 
But he'd rather run, most any day. 

Than fight a yellow jacket. 



Some say a hen that lays an egg 

Does well to advertise it. 
To differ I will have to beg, 

I never would advise it. 
She toots her horn so loud it brings 

Upon the scene Aunt Dinah, 
And when she sets it is on things 

That look like stones or china. 



Dame Modesty is Virtue's most 

Admirably good ally; 
And usually men who boast 

Fail, equivocally. 
If you have an accomplishment 

Speak about it proudly; 
Toot your horn to some extent. 

But not too long, nor loudly. 




^^^_ 
t^g ^^ 



—71- 



M^ ^jC ^8^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Xmas Eve in the Porcupine. 



I was in a western mining camp, not many 

years ago; 
'Twas Christmas Eve — the atmosphere was dense 

with flying snow. 
The twinkling lights flashed gaily from each 

dance hall and saloon, 
And "tanglefoot" like water flowed — and hearts 

were filled with tune. 



I strolled into the Porcupine, the largest saloon 

there. 
A "grizzly" crowd stood at the bar to drown 

with drink its care. 
The miners and cow-punchers through drink had 

ceased to grieve; 
With faces flushed and glassy eyes they toasted 

Christmas Eve. 



Hark ! What is that? Above the hum of voices 
plain is heard 

The rythmic hoof-beats on the plain— a cow- 
man's pony spurred, 

And soon a jaded broncho and its rider fierce, 
drew near, 

And fearful oaths disturbed the peaceful flow of 
Christmas cheer. 



"Look out for Cayenne Pepper Bill," a grizzled 

cowman said. 
And on the faces in the room there passed a 

look of dread. 



^ ^ ^ y^ 
yg yg ^^ ^»^ 



-72- 



1^ >^^^J^. 

(^^ ^i^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



And thon a monster kick caved in the Porcu- 
pine's front door, 

And in strode Cayenne Pepper Bill with "bark- 
ing" forty-four. 

Upon the wall in letters large with lead he 

carved his name, 
That all might see in future days and fear his 

aim and fame. 
"Now," he snorted, "you kyotes, come to the 

bar and choose! 
For mine— I'll take a tumbler full of cayenne 

pepper booze!" 

Every man, save one, came up to drink a friend- 
ly glass. . 

(Refusing drinks m western camps are msults 
hard to pass.) 

With puckered brow the Terror gazed at the 
offending one 

And like a flash drew into line his oft' before 
used gun. 

"Come up, you tenderfoot galoot!" the fuming 
Terror said. 

"I'll fill your carcass full of holes and pump you 
full of lead." 

Every man in that saloon stood still with bated 
breath — 

For well 'twas known the tenderfoot was court- 
ing instant death. 

"Now, don't you get excited, said the tender- 
foot to Bill. 

"Just put away your skootin' iron and let your- 
self be still 



^^ (^. ^ (^ ^^ ^ 



—IB- 




And I will spin a little yarn; 'twill be a true one, 

too. 
You shall then decide yourself if I must drink 

with you: 

"In a far-off eastern city, this night of peace 

and joy, 
In a cozy, little cottage, is a woman and a boy- 
Just an ordinary baby boy, a little more than 

three— 
And an ordinary woman — and they're waiting 

therefor me. 

"Last Christmas Eve the hearth was cold — the 

woman's face was pale, 
And loud above the wind's moan was heard the 

baby's wail; 
And I, a dissipated beast, had not the sense to 

see 
And know how dear the wife and child that 

waited there for me. 



"In the distant city tower clock the midnight 

chime had rung. 
And baby's empty stocking, near the cheerless 

hearthstone hung. 
Presented a pathetic sight that was pitiful to 

see — 
And sad, indeed, the woman's face who waited 

there for me. 



"Daylight dawned upon as fair and bright a 

Christmas morn 
As ever blessed the countless lives of worthless 

sinners born, 
And, soaked in booze, without a thought of 

Christmas cheer and joy, 



yi^ ^ ^ y^ 
^g €^ ^^ y^ yg 



—74— 



5HUT-1N SONGS 



I staggered to the cheerless home where waited 
wife and boy. 

"1 crossed the squalid threshold and the scene 

my vision met , ^^ v 

Is one, as long as I may live, I never shall tor- 

The baby sobbed beside the bed, kneeling as m 

And^mSr'the cheerless hearthstone hung the 
empty stocking there. 

"Oh, God! Each smothered sob was like a pain 

sent to destroy! , , x i j 

I never know before that day how much I loved 

that boy. , , , , „^ 

I clasped him in my arms and sobbed. He 

raised his eyes, so blue, *. u ,<- 

And said: 'Papa, did Santa Glaus forget about 

you, too?' 

"I swore that day I'd cut out booze, and with 

God's help I will, „, 

And if you'd lull a man.for that I guess you U 

have to kill. . , ,, i 

From that once cheerless hearth there glows a 

cozy, cheerful light, 
And Santa Glaus will not forget my little boy 

tonight." 

Without a word the Terror turned and paid the 

barman's score. ■, ^ t- a f^^ 

He holsLered up his forty-four and started for 

the door. ,, ^ . ,<- 

"Jes' reminds me uv th' squaw that hangs out 

in my shack. ,,„ 

A pair uv socks hang on the chair. Guess 1 11 

be gettin' back." 



^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
t^ U^ t^. - 




—75- 



I ^^ y^ ^8^ caj^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



The Song I Love. 



O, sing again that dear old song that tells of 

brave heroes; 
The song that everybody loves, that everybody 

knows; 
The song about America, its sloping, fertile 

hills, 
Its villages and cities, and its forests, rocks and 

rills. 
The land of the brave and free, home of the 

kind and true— 
The song about our country and the red, white 

and blue. 



0, sing again that dear old song that tells of 

other days. 
When heroes were victorious and won a nation's 

praise. 
It makes my heart beat faster, and a thrill of 

pride and joy 
Greets me when I hear that song I sang when 

I was a boy. 
'Tis a song that will ne'er grow old— as earthly 

mortals do— 
The song about America and the red, white and 

blue. 



One verse, when I hear it, makes my eyes o'er- 

flow with tears; 
The next makes me feel as though I want to 

shout: "Three Cheers!" 
And before the song is ended I feel certain I am 

one 



€S^ ^^ ^S3^ ^^ 

eager Qjg ^ag yg ^agg 



—76- 



^5^ 3^ :s^ 3?^ 3?^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



That to that tune would march to war as other 

men have done, 
Who shed their blood for liberty, and won the 

victory, too. 
Because they loved their country and the red, 

white and blue. 



The Lion Cub and the Man. 



A lion cub desired to leave the old parental lair 

And roam afar to unknown lands and seek ad- 
venture there. 

The mother lion raised her voice in vigorous pro- 
test. 

Fears for his safety oft disturbed the mother 
lion's breast. 

"Alas!" quoth she, "tis better far for you to 
stay at home— 

For dangers lurk within the land where you de- 
sire to roam. 

Toward the rising sun, off there, there dwells a 
hostile clan 

Who are the lion's enemies — our dreaded foe — 
the man." 

"0, mother," quoth the lion cub, "more I'd like 
to know 

About this wicked, savage man, the lion's great- 
est foe." 

But not a word the mother told; instead, she 
held her peace. 

Thinking that his longiug for adventure there 
would cease. 



^K ^^ ^^ ^^ 

€a^ ^»l£: ^i^ ^^ ^agg 



—77- 



5^ 3^ s?«^ ^^ 3f«^ 
yg^ ^^ ^ yg 

SHUT-IN 50NG5 



The cub inquired of every beast upon the spread- 
ing plain; 
But none had gone beyond the hills and ques- 

tiois wivi in vail. 
And so, one day he sallied forth the unknown 

world to scan- 
To see the things beyond the hills where dwelled 
the dreaded man. 



With dauntless courage on he went toward the 

rising sun. 
With hopeful thoughts within his mind of con- 
quests to be won. 
One day he passed a fertile vale through which 

a river ran. 
Upon its banks a huge ox grazed. Said he "This 

must be man!" 
Approaching nearer to the ox, with quaking 

heart and dread. 
And gazing on the massive form, "Are you a 

man?" he said. 
"No." said the ox, "I'm not a man— I slave to 

do man's will. 
He makes me labor on the soil it pleases him to 

tin." 



"Mart must indeed be great," thought he, "and 

fierce and strong and brave 
To make that great beast do his will— to toil and 

be his slave." 
And next he saw an elephant whose great ears 

were a fan. 
With swaying head and swinging trunk. Thought 

he: "This must be man!" 
With wond'ring glance at this huge frame he 

timidly approached. 
His question to the elephant, with bravest mien, 

he broached. 



C^ Q^ ^ajg ^^ ^a^ 



—78- 



^S?^ ^S?^ ^3g^ 
^g^ y^ y^ y^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 




"No, I'm no man," trumpted the elephant loud 

and shrill, 
"I'm but the humble slave of man to do his wish 

and will." 



Then on he traveled till he came upon a great 

oak tree — 
(To one reared upon the plain a wondrous sight 

to see.) 
"Are you a man?" he asked the oak, as glancing 

from below. 
The great oak shook its monster boughs and 

groaned the ansver, "No." 
"Another oak as great as I once stood here by 

my side, 
Green and grand with strength and life, with 

spreading branches wide. 
But, alas, there came a man with woodman's 

axe one day, 
Who cut my brother oak tree down and carried 

him away. ' ' 



^ 



And as the lion passed along a woodman's axe 

he heard. 
He saw a little runt at work and stopped to pass 

a word. 
"Can you tell me," the patronizing lion cub be- 
gan, 
"What kind of looking monster is the animal 

called man?" 
"I am a man," the woodman said, "why did you 

wish to know?" 
The lion cub looked his contempt that man 

should be his foe, 
And said, "You runt, with one small blow I'd 

knock away your breath, 
And ere your strength rould do me harm your 

fate would be sure death. ' ' 

yi^ ^1^ yii: y^ 
y^ ^ yg ^ yg 



-79- 



I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



With mirthless smile and easy grace, from awk- 
wardness quite free. 

The woodman sunk his shining axe into a fallen 
tree. 

"Now," to the cub, "just place your foot with- 
in this little split 

And hold it there a moment. Don't be afraid of 
it." 

Without suspicion on his mind the foolish cub 
complied, 

And placed his foot within the crack the axe 
held open wide. 

Then, like a flash, the woodman pulled from out 
the log the axe 

And watched the slowly dawning sense upon the 
cub of facts. 



Ye foolish, giddy lion cubs who've started forth 

to roam 
Away to unknown regions far away from ma 

and home 
To seek the dreaded boogie-man that few cubs 

ever saw, 
Whose cognomen in English talk is designated 

law, 
Learn ye this lesson right away; 'twill be well 

worth the pains: 
This world of ours is ruled by men with moral 

sense and brains. 
The actions of young lion cubs are watched by 

men of thought. 
Don't place your foot within a crack, perchance 

it may get caught. 




^. ^4^ ^i^ ^^ ^^ 



-80— 



i 






5HUT-1N SONGS 



Wen de New Year Cum. 



Wha's de mattah wid yo' man? 

Jes' smile! Yo' know yo' can! 
Wen de new year cum 
Don' look so glum— 

Lak yo' was under ban. 

Dere's t'ings dat yo' can do 
Dat'll be er he'p to you. 

or nineteen-six 

Will he'p yo' fix 
Yo' future up bran new. 

Ob co'se you's troubled, chile; 

Had ernuff yo' peace to rile, 
But let dat go 
An' let folks know 

Dat you's gwine to smile. 

Fergit dat stubborn mood 
An' let dem smiles obtrude, 
An' den dis year 
Won't seem so drear 
Ef yo' fergits to brood. 

Jes' say: "I wants dem joys 
Dat oneryness destroys!" 

An' de ol' Hoodoo 

Won't pester you 
Wid his drag-net decoys. 

De hope dat's in yo' breas' 

Is waitin' fer de tes'. 

W'en de new year cum 
Don't look so glum. 

Jes' start an' do yo' bes'. 



. ^ ^ ^ ^_ 
c ^ c^ ^^ yg ^d^ 



—81— 



3^ 3?^ 3?«^ ^S?«^ ^Sf«^ 
^^ ^)S^ ^i^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Time Flics. 




It's hard for me to realize, 

As, sitting in my cell today, 
That passing time so quickly flies; 

That twenty years have passed away 
Since I, with dinner pail and books. 

Past pastures green and woodlands cool, 
And dancing rills and crystal brooks. 

Went on my way to District School. 

I wonder who would recognize 

In me — the convict, silent, grim— 
With solemn face and solemn eyes, 

The country schoolboy. Little Jim, 
Whose heart was pure, whose face was bright, 

And who on Fridays ('twas the rule) 
Recited: "Always Stand for Right" 

In that old-fashioned District School. 

In looking back to me it seems 

As though 'twas only yesterday 
When I, in childhood, cherished dreams 

Of glories for me in life's fray. 
But twenty years of golden time. 

On sacrificial altars burned, 
Were not all lost in pantomime, 

For life's best lessons I have learned. 

O, if we could but realize 

The value of a conscience trained 
To know that time so quickly flies. 

And when once lost is ne'er regained; 
To know stability's great worth, 

No matter what our lot may be, 
'Twould smooth the road that leads through earth 

To all men's goal — Eternity. 



^J^ ^^ ^^ €^ 

^a^g yg calg cjgg ^a^ 



—82— 



^nK ^^ Mg ^>^ 





No Place Like Chicago. 



Some talk of old Manhattan Isle 
As just the place to best beguile 
The fleeting days with joy the while 

And some think most of Fargo, 
But in all the noble lands of worth 
Upon this good old mother earth, 
From mountainside to wave-washed firth 

There's no place like Chicago. 

Old Coney Island's up-to-date; 
The social damsel finds it great 
Whose health is rather delicate 

To that resort with "ma" go; 
But where on earth can mankind see 
More wealth of fiower, shrub and tree? 
And where fresh breezes rouse one's glee 

Than in dear old Chicago. 

To see Chicago after dark 

Or stroll along through Lincoln Park, 

Or on a pleasure trip embark 

Upon the lake, at leisure. 
Is like a trip to fairy land 
And makes a fellow's soul expand 
With all its grace and beauty, grand. 

And all its joy and pleasure. 

The rich embark across the sea 

To fine resorts in Italy, 

And some fare forth to gay Paree— 

Bring with them home a cargo. 
But those who live in grandeur's thrall. 
With all their wealth, can't buy it all; 
And men whose incomes are but small 

Can find much in Chicago. 



. ^ ^ ^ ^_ 

€^^ cj^ yg ^^ yg 




—83— 



^^ ^1^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



The Parting of the Ways. 



There must be no indecision at the parting of the 

ways. 
There are just two roads to travel— one brings 

loss, the other pays. 
In starting- on life's journey we must turn to left 

or right; 
We must either travel downward or ascend the 

sloping height. 

On the road that leads one downward sin's temp- 
tatii>ns never cease; 

On the road that leads one upward pilgrims know 
both joy and peace. 

If we but start I'ight for each one are blessed fu- 
ture days. 

There must be no indecision at the parting of 
the ways. 

Does the road on which you travel lead away to 

honor's height? 
Or does it lead you downward to Eternity's black 

night? 
If so, let today mark the time when you will 

right-about 
And leave the road that leads one down and take 

the upward route. 

At first it's easy traveling along the downward 

road; 
But as you turn each winding bend more heavy 

grows the load; 
And often on the way one meets the sorrow that 

dismays. 
There must be no indecision at the parting of 

the ways. 

\ ^i^ ^^ ^^ ^n^ ^^ 



— S4— 



^^ ^^ ^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



The Printer's View. 




I've got a word or two to say 
About baseball. It's just this way: 
You guys who read the scores each day 

Laud pitchers, catchers, sprinters; 
You read about a clever "bunt ' 
And slap your knee and smile and grunt, 
But little credit for their stunt 

Do you give to the printers. 

Perhaps you've heard some printer tell 

How hard it is to set nonpareil; 

But if you haven't -Say! It's—, well 

There's no use to discuss it. 
Suffice to say the baseball score 
Uses figures, caps, sorts galore, 
And makes the printer feel so sore 

He's always sure to "cuss" it. 

You cop the slang from far and wide; 
You hoot the team that's "ossified;" 
You shout and howl: Slide, Kelley, Slide, 

And read all baseball fables; 
But gosh, you never give a thought 
To that with which such skill is fraught. 
The real hero is placed at naught— 

'The man who sets the tables. 

I write this little lay, just so 

That you may think, and thinking, know 

Just who should be the real hero,— 

Not they who wear the labels; 
But he who writes the copy well, 
Who knows enough to rightly spell, 
And he who sets the nonpareil 

And "wrastles" with the tables. 



cjjg: oae: yg yg ^aUg 




—85- 






shut-in songs 



Governor J. Frank Hanly. 



I love to read of noble deeds 

Of men who toil for mankind's needs; 

Who on life's way are sowing seeds 

Of grand and noble action; 
Whose influence is all for good, 
For high ideals and true manhood; 
Whose worthy deeds are understood 

Best by the moral faction. 

I love to read that in our State 

We have a man, both grand and great, 

Whose efforts ever advocate 

The things that are most manly; 
Whose name is known throughout the land 
Because of his bold, moral stand. 
No name can more respect command 

Than that of J. Frank Hanly. 

I love to read of men who place 
The proper name to all things base; 
Who tell the devil to his face 

That he is but a devil; 
Of men who cater not to caste, 
Nor fear that some will stand aghast 
Who break the laws and should be classed 

On the law breakers' level. 

I love to read of battles won, 
Where Right prevails, with Wrong undone; 
Where frays unequally begun 
Are terminating grandly. 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^0^ 
^4^ ^a^ ^i^ ^8^ ^^ 

—86— 





_ 3^ S^ 5l«^ 5^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



5HUT-IN 50NG5 




And on the scrolls of honored fame 
To read the letters that proclaim 
The right to honor of the name 
Of Governor J. Frank Hanly. 

On earth there's no man greater than 
The hopeful, earnest, fearless man 
Who, in the crossing of life's span, 

Puts forth his best endeavor; 
And when at last the church bells toll 
A knell to his departed soul. 
And he passes on to life's great goal. 

His deeds Hve on forever. 



The Key to Joy is Toil. 



A king who sat upon a gilded throne, 
Surrounded by such joys as wealth can buy 
And things of beauty such as please the eye. 

Lacked that which unto kings is most unknown 
And which a kingdom's wealth cannot supply: 

Contentment, peace and joy to be his own; 

All growing in life's fields— by labor sown— 
Which never fails men's souls to satisfy. 

Said he: "I'll search my kingdom o'er and o'er 
That I may find and use the key to joy." 

And passing homes where dwelt the toiling poor 
He heard the joyous song notes of a boy 

Who labored in a field and tilled the soil. 

"Ah!" said the king, "the key to joy is toil." 



^8^ ^i^ yg ^8^ ^^ 



—87- 



3^ ^5^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 

y^ M^ y^ €«^ 



e 



5HUT-IN 50NG5 




Where the Wabash River Flows. 



Late in the night when all are calmly sleeping, 

And the earth is veiled with darkness and 
with gloam, 
With memory lonely vigil I am keeping; 

In fancy I am once again at home. 
With sweetheart Rose along the lane I'm strolling 

Toward the village church that memory 
knows; 
Again I hear the quaint old church bell tolling 

In the valley where the Wabash River flows. 



Chorus:— 

The scene is the same as of old, 
When long ago Rose and I strolled 

On a bright summer day 

Where the lane winds away 
To the daisy clad meadows and wold. 
An oriole smgs to his mate 
In the tree by the old garden gate, 

Where often at night, 

'Neath the stars and moonlight, 
With heart filled with love I would wait. 



The sunbeams tint the landscape fair with glory 
And brings an earthly paradise to view. 

I whisper in her ear the old, old story 
And promise her that I'll be ever true. 



^J^ ««^ ^^ ^^ ^ 
^a^ ^8^ ^8^ y^ yg 



-^8- 



jS?^ jS^ jS?*^ j5?*^ j5?^ 

g^ M^ yg g^ 

SHUT-IN 50NG5 



"There's none on earth, sweetheart, I hold 

above you," 

She answered me, with voice so low and 

sweet. 

"I'll be your wife, will honor, trust and love you; 

Our lives with happiness will be complete. ' ' 



The long eternal sleep my Rose is sleeping 

In that village churchyard, far away. 
O'er her grave an ivy vine is creeping, 

And clings around the marble tombstone 
gray. 
In passing years my heart is ever yearning 

For the sweetheart of my youth— my little 
Rose; 
And oft' at night my memory is turning 

To the valley where the Wabash River flows. 



An Old Sweetheart of Mine. 



When the June-time roses blossom and exude 
their sweet perfume 

They recall to view the mem'ries of old sweet- 
hearts with their bloom; 

Seems as though the boyhood ideals that a fel- 
ler used to know 

Once again are smiling at him, as they did long, 
long ago. 



^^ ^ ^^ ^^ 
^^ %^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

-89- 



5?^ 3^ ^5*^ 3(f^ 3S^ 
^^ ^^ ^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



I used to have a sweetheart when I was a little 
boy 

And the revei'ence of memory fleeting time can- 
not destroy. 

When I smell the breath of roses, in the June- 
time, superfine. 

It recalls again the mem'ry of that old sweet- 
heart of mine. 



I know she used to love me for she often told 
me so 

As we sat beneath the arbor where the honey- 
suckles grow. 

I loved her with devotion and a tenderness di- 
vine, 

And each day my love grew greater for that old 
sweetheart of mine. 



To my memory the image of her gentle features 
brings 

Even through the years' quick passage a tender- 
ness that clings. 

And the songs she sang, old-fashioned, waken 
feelings most divine. 

Bringing to my heart a longing for that old 
sweetheai't of mine. 



But I'll see no more the image of the one who 

loved me best. 

In a far-off Southern churchyard many years 
she's been at rest. 

I know there's not another one in all the world, 
so fine, 

That I'll love as I did mother— that old sweet- 
heart of mine. 

iTi ^s^ ^8^ ^^ ^^ 

^a>e: ^«?e: ^i^ ^g yg 

—90— 



3^ 3^ 3^ :S^ 3^ 
yg ^^ yg ^»^ 



% 



5HUT-IN SONGS 



=•: 



Think of the Rights of Others. 



Stand up for your rights! That will be right! 

But think of the rights of others. 
In asserting your own don't do things that might 

Infringe on the rights of your brothers. 
You've a right to do with your own as you will, 
As long as it brings to your neighbors no ill; 
But you have no rights (by God's laws) until 

You've thought of the rights of others. 



Stand up for your rights! 'Tis manly and brave! 

But think of the rights of others. 
You're of age and can do as you please, but behave 

In a way that won't hurt your brothers. 
Your life is your own. God gave it to you 
To treasure or ruin— be false or be true. 
'Tis yours to do with as you wish to do. 

But think of the rights of others, 



Adrift down the River of Life we may go. 

Heedless of rights of others; 
But sad is our lot if we bring only woe 

To sadden the hearts of our brothers. 
Remember, man's goal in this life is not "gain. 
Happiness marks the success we attain. 
The Golden Rule makes our duty quite plain: 

Think of the rights of others. 



Qi^ Cd^ ^i^ ^i^ ^a^ 



—91— 



:;m :^m :^m :^m :^m 

g^ ^a^ ca^ g^ 



^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 




Life is What You Make it. 



The bright sunbeams were gleaming o'er the 
hills of Tennessee 
On the morning that 1 left my dear old home; 
A mocking bird was singing in a blooming apple 
tree 
A song to take in memory where I'd roam. 
My dear old mother gazed into my eyes and said 
good-bye 
And gently placed her hand upon my head. 
Her voice shook with emotion and a tear gleam- 
ed in her eye 
As these truthful words to me she softly 
said: 



Chorus:— 

This life is what you make it, after all. 
It's up to you to either rise or fall. 

Your goal is care or joy, 

Just as you make it, boy; 
Your future may be either great or small. 
There's lots of room for pictures in Fame's hall, 
And on the way temptations loudly call, 

But remember, as you go, 

That your lot is joy or woe, 
And life is what you make it, after all. 



My mem'ry ever treasures e'en the mocking 
bird's sweet song 
In the flower-scented valley far away. 



^»j^ ^rf^ €aS^ €8^ 
^^ ^»^ ^^ ^^ c^ 



—92- 



:!^ :^^ :^^ :^m^^^ 

yg Mg ^^ ^8^ 
SHUT-IN 50NG5 



.^ 



For a glimpse of the old homestead, when my 
heart is sad, I long. 
As it was before my childhood passed away. 
But the homestead is in ruins now and weeds 
are growing wild. 
And the dearest friend I had on earth is dead. 
No lands and houses did she leave on earth here 
for her child. 
But she left a treasure when these words 
she said:— Cho. 



The Blue Back Spelling Book. 



New-fangled modes are followed now in all the 
village schools; 

It seems as though the pedagogues have shied at 
old-time rules 

That used to mark the old school days before 
the world forsook 

The old-time dictionary and the blue back spell- 
ing book. 

In fancy's vale I see today a school house as it 

stood 
At the road forks on the hill in the old home 

neighborhood. 
A row of boys and girls stood there and, with 

expectant look. 
Spelled the words the teacher gave from the 

blue back spelling book. 



i^ Cj^ €^ Ci^ 
^^. c^g ^g ^^ '^?^ 



*n4 



-93- 



3^ 3^ 3^ :s^ 3^ 
y^ y^ y^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONG5 



Interest plainly showed itself through the en- 
tire school — 

From the bright-eyed, sweet girl scholar to the 
cross-eyed village fool— 

And those who knew their lessons best no de- 
feat would brook, 

And spelled the hardest words from out the 
blue back spelling book. 



Proud indeed was the boy or girl who couldn't 
be spelled down — 

The place at the head of the class was one of 
fair renown. 

Cause had he or she to wear the proud, triumph- 
ant look 

Who'd learned to spell the hard words in the 
blue back spelling book. 



Perhaps the teachers in those days were old and 

out of date 
Compared with recent pedagogues who teach the 

schools of late, 
But oh, I love the old school house — each corner 

and each nook. 
I love each memory clinging 'round the blue 

back spelling book. 



The days of the blue backed speller, alas, are 
past and gone. 

Only recalled with pleasant thoughts as time is 
passing on. 

The ceaseless round of steady change a reform 
undertook, 

But for life I'll be loyal to the blue back spel- 
ling book. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
yg ^1^ ^i^ ^i^ ^^ 




—94— 



5 HUT-IN SONGS 



0, What Will the Harvest Be? 



This world is a field to abundantly yield 

The harvest that we are to reap, 
And in it will grow whatever we sow, 

Whether strewn broadcast or sown deep. 
Lifetime is the Spring. Do we toil for the King, 

Who rules over all that we see? 
When Springtime is past, in the reaping at last, 

O, what will the harvest be? 



If we scatter the seeds of thistles and weeds. 

Then surely we'll not gather grain. 
If we plant only woe then surely we know 

Our harvest will be one of pain. 
The planter of hope has unlimited scope— 

For the field is as broad as the sea— 
And the tools are at hand, and fertile the land. 

0, what will the harvest be? 



0, brother, make haste, lest your plot lie in 
waste. 

Where weeds grow there's so much to do. 
Your field is as fair as fields anywhere. 

And it is still Springtime for you. 
The Spring passes on— make haste ere it's gone. 

While the sun shines bright on the lea: 
But if you will wait until it's too late, 

O, what will the harvest be? 



. ^»^ M^ ^»^ ^J^ 

faay <^ Qjg: ^g - 




-95— 



3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 
(^ ^^ g^ y^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 

* 



In the Shade of the Old Cala- 



(Parody on "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree.") 

The Fourth dawned clear, the sun rose in its 
glory 
And shed its beams of splendor o'er the way, 
When Billy said to Anna, low and tender, 

"Come with me and we'll celebrate the day. " 
The brass bands played the lovers' hearts to 
soften 
In Fontaine Ferry Park in Louisville, 
Where "high-balls" can be had, you know, 
quite often, 
And that, alas, just suited Escort Bill. 



Chorus:— 

She waited till late in the night. 

Till the stars were all glimmering bright. 

And she wondered where Bill 

Could be lingering still. 
In her heart was an unspoken fright. 
Soon the moon, with its sombre face, told 
That the night of the Fourth had grown old, 

And her worry increased. 

But her vigilance ceased 
When the gray in the East turned to gold. 



y^ ^ ^ y^ 
%^ ^ ^agg ^ ^^ 



-96- 









5HUT-1N SONGS 



As the day advanced 'twas warmer growing, 
And Escort Bill went often for his cheer. 

His appearance soon made quite a showing- 
He left his sweetheart often for his beer. 

At last he failed to come, but still she waited 
Until the afternoon had changed to gloam; 

The homeward trip she often contemplated, 

But she lacked the fare to pay her way 
back home. 



Unescorted home she came at morning 

Upon a car that came from Louisville, 
No joyful look her handsome face adorning. 

And people, seeing, wondered where was 
BilL 
In the meantime Bill was telephonmg— 

For fifteen minutes, full, he held the line. 
The message o'er the wire that he was groaning 

Was: "Come to Louisville and pay my fine!" 



While the Bread Was Rising. 



"Oh, mamma," cried Willie, in great affright, 
"Come quick, there's a mouse in the dough! 

I dared not to touch it for fear 'twould bite, 
But 1 threw the old cat in, though!" 



* 



. ^ ^ ^ ^ 
c^^ ^8g£r ^^ Mg Mg 




—97- 



r 



:5^ 3^ 3^ :3^ 3^ 

I 'ca^ ^8^ y^ y^ 

5HUT-IN 50NG5 

* 



Rolling Stones. 



It's a mighty fine thing just to travel 

And see the great sights by the way, 
To see Nature's great mysteries um-avel 

As you view them from day to day; 
But an epigram, well worth recalling, 

A thinking man's vision will cross: 
Tho' the shades of life's night be fast falling, 

' 'A rolling stone gathers no moss. ' ' 

It's a mighty fine thing to have pleasures 

As you travel life's roadway along. 
Travelers often find wisdom's treasures 

And life seems to pass like a song. 
But the song the voice sings oft' so sweetly 

Will grow stale and the voice grow hoarse- 
For the rolling stone rolls indiscreetly. 

And has always a sure downward course. 

Did you ever make this observation: 

That those who have stayed right at home 
Are loved best by friends and relations 

Than those who have ventured to roam? 
When we balance up life's gain and loss. 

The knowledge will come with full force, 
That rolling stones gather no moss, 

And have always a sure downward course. 

What epoch in life so dear as childhood, 

'Mid the scenes all around the old home? 

Where else just as green is the wildwood. 
Where in happy days we used to roam? 



^ ^a^ y^ ^ 



-98- 









SHUT-IN 50NG5 



Tho' our travels in life may be endless, 
We will find less gold than dross, 

If old age at last finds us friendless. 
"A rolling stone gathers no moss." 



It's Never Too Late to Mend. 



Settin' in a railroad carriage as the train speeds 
thro' the night, 

With the sheriff settin' near you an' the hand- 
cuffs put on tight, 

Makes a feller feel down-hearted, jes' as tho' 
he'd reached the end 

Of the road he's follered down'ard, and it's 
most too late to mend. 



As he gazes thro' the winder at the landscape 

fiickin' past. 
In his mind kaleidoscopic views of events hurry 

past. 
He recalls his every action of a mean, ignoble 

trend— 
An' it makes a feller feel as tho' it's most too 

late to mend. 



^^. ^^ ^^ - 



.^. 




-99— 



3^ ^S^ ^5?«^ 3?e^ ^5?«^ 
yg y^ ^8^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



When at last the ride is ended and the prison 

looms in sight, 
With its high stone wall an' txirrets, gloomy 

lookin' in the night, 
A feller feels like wrong-doin' pays a dam poor 

dividend. 
An' it makes a feller feel as tho' it's most too 

late to mend. 



But say! jes' let me tell you, when a feller feels 
that way 

It's because his flaggin' energies need boostin' 
up, I say. 

When he has a task to complete in the work- 
shop I'll contend 

That he'll soon begin a-thinkin' that its not too 
late to mend. 



When a feller's keepin' busy he is always in a 

mood 
To become so optimistic that he soon forgets to 

brood. 
When a feller quits his broodin' he'll begin to 

comprehend 
That it's best to "cut out" meanness; that it's 

not too late to mend. 



With an access to the best books that a library 

can hold 
A feller gets a habit that will bring more joy 

than gold. 
It will help him up the incline that he's trying 

to ascend. 
It causes him to realize he's got a chance to 

mend. 



^iS^ (^ ^^ ^^ 

^s: gj^ ^^g ^^ yg 




—100— 



3^ 3«»^ 3^ ^S^ 3^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 

=• 



When a feller travels back'ards o'er the road 

he'd come along, 
He can point out every cross-road where his 

foot-steps led him wrong. 
If he's got the kind of manhood that is worthy 

to defend, 
He'll brace up and, with dignity, will say, 

"Fm going to mend." 



If he's had but poor advantages his life has just 
begun 

And he'll buckle down in earnest that the future 
may be won. 

An' he'll learn that golden lesson : That the law 
is his good friend, 

An' is willin', too, to help him help himself be- 
gin to mend. 



When a feller hears our Chaplain as he tells him 

in his pew 
Of things that make life good to live — life's 

lessons, grand and true, 
Good resolutions fill his heart, and with hopes 

they blend. 
O, God! we humbly thank Thee that it's not too 

late to mend. 



When the sun comes peeping through 

And we are peeping out 
'Tis then our "time" is hard to "do." 

Of this there is no doubt. 



^ y^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
(^ ^^. i^. (^. ^^ 



-101— 



^s^ 7^ :^^ im 7m 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Ode to Osgood. 



Have you ever heard of Osgood? 

Just a little town, you know, 
Nestling where the verdant wildwood 

Skirts the old-time B. & O., 
Near the banks of the Laughery, 

That the bards have sung about 
In language sweet and flowery 

That describe its crystal route. 

It is Indiana's flower, 

Nestling in a vale as fair 
As a green Arcadian bower, 

With no landscape to compare. 
There the breezes, soft, are bringing 

From the fields of clover, near. 
Sweet perfumes, and birds are singing 

Songs of joy — so good to hear. 

'Tis remembered well for ever 

By the travelers that way; 
Noted for its maidens clever, 

And as fair as flow'rs in May. 
Honest men— good, true and whole-souled. 

And matrons, blessed sisterhood. 
Make paradise of each household 

In the village of Osgood. 

Back, tonight, memory is bringing 
The scene in the church, one day, 

Where I listened to the singing. 

Rendered ' 'in the good old way. ' ' 



^ ^ ^!^ ^^ 
yg^ ^Ig ^igg yg ^g 

—102— 



j5?*3 j5^ jS^ j5?^ j5?*^ 

g^ y^ M^ y^ ^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



And no tunes 'neath grandest steeple, 
With a pipe organ and choir, 

Could more touch the hearts of people. 
Nor could better thoughts inspire. 

The preacher rose and told a story — 

Just a story from real life — 
With its vein of joy and glory 

And its vein of woe and strife, 
Of a man who'd crossed the river 

To Eternity's far shore 
To dwell with the Blessing Giver 

Peacefully forevermore. 



"0, my friends, there's peace in living 

In the way that we should live; 
There is joy brought by the giving 

To the Lord all we can give! 
Won't you join yourself to Jesus 

In the army of the right? 
Just remember that he sees us 

And will help us win the fight." 



Thus he pleaded for the Master 

In a voice which, deep and low. 
Made each heart, I know, beat faster, 

Caused each eye to overflow. 
On the faces rapt expressions- 
Lofty thoughts of good and might- 
Told life's stamp leaves its impressions 
Of the wrong and of the right. 



When at last the service ended 

And the meeting closed with prayer. 

As the people homeward wended, 
Happy laughter filled the air. 



y^ €S^ y^ €sg?^ 
^jgg ^^ ^^ yg Cj^ 



—103— 



^s^ 3^ :s?e3 ^^ :s?«^ 
yg y^ €<g^ y^ 

5HUT-IN 50NG5 



It was pleasure just to hear them; 

Peace and joy were blended there; 
Not a shadow hovered near them — 

Not a sorrow nor a care. 



The good rewards they are reaping 

From the harvest fields of life, 
Leaving all in Jesus' keeping, 

Gleaning pleasure from the strife. 
O, ye strangers to real pleasure, 

For life's joys, and brotherhood, 
Lead the life the dwellers treasure 

In the village of Osgood. 



They Made of it Spring Lamb. 



Mary had a little ram; 

She named it Little Joe. 
It was presented her by Sam, 

Who was her thoughtful beau. 

But when at last it grew to be 

So feeble and so old 
That it was blind and couldn't see 

She bartered it for gold. 

The packers sent her back the pay 
For her enfeebled ram, 

And in some scientific way 

They made of it spring Iamb. 




e 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

^8^ ^a^ ^^ ^^ yg 



—104— 



:3?^ 3^ 3^ :5^ 3^ 
^^ ^^ M^ Mg 

5HUT-IN SONGS 






The Value of Character. 



Wealth, position and influence, environment, 
education — 

Are the things people have been striving for 
since the beginning of creation. 

Quite often they are all attained by "business 
capacity," 

Instead of honesty and truth and worthy perspi- 
cacity. 



The foundation stones of success when laid in 

life's beginning. 
Should be placed with greatest care while 

achievements you are winning. 
Remember as you go along, a saying that's long 

prevailed. 
That success gained at honor's cost is a good 

career curtailed. 



Character has no substitute— its rewards are al- 
ways rife; 

It is held an essential thing in all the walks of 
life. 

If wealth, position, influence are without it 
gained, what's availed? 

For the man without character is the man who 
in life has failed. 



^4^ 



^*^ ^J^ €S^ 
^)^ "^i^ yg g^ ^1^ 



-105— 



? ^^ y^ y^ y^ 



v^, 



5HLiT-iN 50NG5 




American Brotherhood. 



PVom far-off California's vale 
There comes to us a woeful tale 
That causes swarthy cheeks to pale 

With sympathy and horror; 
A tale, when all is truly told, 
As many horrors can unfold 
As in the story told of old 

Of Sodom and Gomorrah, 

Great San Francisco, once as grand 
As any city ever planned 
And builded up by mortal hand 

In all this mighty nation, 
Today is an unsightly blot 
Upon the country's fairest spot — 
A mass of ruins, smoking hot; 

A scene of devastation. 

The news was flashed from state to state 
Ar fast as means facilitate, 
And Americans, compassionate 

For suffering of others. 
With Christian liberality. 
Paused not upon formality. 
But to that doomed locality 

Sent succor to their brothers. 

Before the story had grown old; 
Before the wrecking fires grew cold 
Three hundred million dollars, gold. 
Sent to them told a story; 



f 



^ ^ ^ ^_ 

^«»g: ^ig ^i^ ^i^ yg 



—106- 



' ^^ ^^ ^^ (>iS^ i 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



The story that time has withstood: 
Our country's love of common good, 
And Christian deeds of brotherhood, 
Aloof from selfish glory. 

John Rockefeller, bless his soul, 
Sympathized enough to dole 
A hundred thousand as his toll 

For their alleviation; 
And though he heads a hated trust, 
Is often branded as unjust, 
His action, should it be discussed. 

Can bring but commendation. 

The old and young, the rich and poor, 
In sympathy for souls heartsore. 
Gave liberally from their store 

To meet this great disaster; 
And 0, my brothers, these deeds show 
That seeds of love cease not to grow 
In hearts of men, sown long ago 

By this life's Great Forecaster. 



He Made a Pi. 



The make-up man he made a pi. 

'Twas neither apple, squash nor peach. 
The pi he made caused him to try 

And quickly get it out of reach. 
It did not help his appetite. 

Nor in his stomach find a place. 
The pi he made he did not bite. 

But put it back into the case. 



y^ ^ y^ <^ . 
€J^ ^g ^ ^g (^ 




-107— 



^s^ ^s^ 5^ :s?«^ 3j»^ 
^^ (0^ ^^ ^)i^ i 



5HUT-IN 50NG5 



Der English Langvitch. 



English conversation mages fun mit de 

Dutch, 
explaining dey say ve can't righdt dalk so 

much; 
Aber Dutch beats English each day of der 

veek 
Ven it gomes recht gonversationings to 

speak. 



Und in dis langvitch many lies vas been 

told, 
Vitch makes me mit smiling shake like mit 

cold. 
Vhile strolling von efening a crowd of boys 

by, 
Von of dem said dat he saw a house fly. 



Von heard a tree hollow and saw a tree bark, 
Und he saw der moonlight a cigar in der 

dark; 
Von saw a cat bird und likevise a horse 

fly; 

Von saw der sun sink und he saw some soap 
lye. 



Von saw a bell boy und a girl ring der 

towel, 
Und he saw a base hit vat he said vas a 

fowl; 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
c^ Q^ «^ gig ^»^ 



-108- 



<J^ ^i^ ^»g^ M^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



He saw a cow hide and altzo a bulrush, 
Und he heard a 'scar' sing und he saw a 
toot'-brush. 

He saw Su?an, neat, und he saw Irish- 
chaw; 

An elephant's trunk und he saw a hand- 
saw, 

Saw a small monkey wrench und a band on a 
hat, 

Der foot of a hill und a vild tiger cat. 

Von saw a snake dance und he saw a goose 

fly; 
Und he saw der night fall und a day passmg 

by; 
He heard a bed tick und he saw a clock 

run; 
Saw a man dat dey said was a son-of-a- 

gun. 



Von saw a peanut stand und saw some hair 

dye; 
Saw a sardine box und he saw some type pi; 
He saw a rail fence und he saw a ship 

spar; 
Und saw a cracker jack und he saw a jack- 

tar. 



Von saw a stone step und he saw a vine 
run; ^ 

Saw a big sugar bowl und a duel b gun. 

He saw a bed spring und a small ginger 
snap; 

Und a pork sausage roll und a new razor 
strap. 



. ^»^ M^ M^ ^^^ 

€^ €^ Qijg: <#^ yg: 



—109- 



€8^ ^^ y^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Cherirans mit English can't make much fun 

oudt 
Mit all der big lies vitch dey talk much 

aboudt. 
It makes me mit laughing smile fery 

much 
Ven English makes fun mit der talk of der 

Dutch. 



A Credit to the Town. 



The Bladder's editor is in receipt 
Of a new paper from the county seat, 

And, gosh-all-golly-hooks, 

Just judging from its looks, 
We believe that it never will be "beat." 

It looks as though an apple cider mill 
Was used to print it on — or whisky "still," 

And for type — ten-penny nails; 

Justified the form with rails. 
(We won't mention the "news" the columns 
fill). 

But to jolly on the editor we'll say 

It's a credit to the town, any day, 
For the town is so darn slow 
That the merchants do not know 

The difference. It suits them, any way. 



^j^ .ys^ y^ i;^ 
y^ yg yg yg yg 



—110— 



3«»3 3^ 3?*^ :^ 3^ 
Mg; M^ ^g^ y^ 




When One Grows Old. 



When one grows old and eyes once bold 

And bright with the light of life, 
Are weak and dim and loose their bright glim 

Through the years of toil and strife, 
What joy to know that the years will show 

The signs of a life well spent — 
The peace 'twill lend as we near the end 

To reap a well earned content. 



When one grows old oft' the world grows cold 

To the form all stiff and bent, 
And fleeting fast all the years have passed — 

Lost, thrown away and misspent, 
Think of the woe it will bring to know 

The result as oft' foretold — 
Poor and alone, to grieve and atone, 

Oft' too late— when one grows old. 



Improve your time when you're in your prime 

And the years will then unfold 
A full measure of life's best treasure — 

Sweet peace when one grows old. 
When one has youth it is then that truth 

In life should hold full sway; 
Have a goal in view and deeds to do 

Ere life hassHpped away. 



f 



.«' 



\ ^a^ "y^ Si^ ^^ 

yg yg yg yg ^8^ 



—111— 



? ^j^ M^ ^.^ ^1^ i 



5HUT-IN 50NG5 



The Making of Criminals. 



Criminologists are writing 

In the papers, all the time 
Setting forth their mode of fighting 

The existing sway of crime. 
Those who read the papers soften 

In sympathy with work begun. 
I have read them over often 

But have noticed little done. 

I ain't up on philosophy— 

Not the kind that's taught in books — 
Nor learned in criminology, 

Knowmg naught of crime and crooks, 
But I've made some calculations, 

Not through hope of fame nor pelf. 
I have made these observations 
Just to satisfy myself. 

One would surely think in passing 

That the "good times" of the age. 
When the toiler is amassing 

Competency from his wage, 
Could but prove the promp solution 

And would answer every call. 
But we need a substitution. 

For it hasn't helped at all. 

And crime, instead of ceasing, 

It is very evident. 
Each day is but increasing 

To noticeable extent; 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

yg ^)^ <j^ e»^ yg 



—112— 



^^ ^^ ^S^ ^S^ 3?^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

=• == 



And I hope it isn't treason 

Saying loose laws all the time 

Is in my opinion, reason 

For the steady growth of crime. 

Just lately I've been reading 

On the raising of a mule, 
And a whole lot lays in breeding, 

Says the papers, as a rule. 
If you want to raise a model 

For the wagon or the track. 
You must never fool nor coddle 

With a scrub nor razor-back. 



It's the same with "people raising," 

My philosophy doth plead. 
If you raise a man worth praising 

You must commence on the breed. 
But of course there are exceptions 

Where the rule will change, instead, 
And we notice base deceptions 

In the men who've been well bred. 



But I think that in the making 

Of the citizens of worth 
Who in future will be taking 

Useful places on the earth 
That the harlots, low, residing 

In the vile dives of the slums, 
Will hardly be providing 

Presidents — sired by lazy bums. 



Ignorance among all classes 
Of our sexual sacredness. 

And especially the masses 

Who 're abusive through excess, 







—113- 



5^ :5^ 3?«^ 3^ 3?^ 

y^ ^8^ ^^ y^ 
5HUT-IN SONGS 



Is the cause that's surely leading 
Them pJong the road of woe. 

When too late to turn they're pleading: 
"It's because we didn't know." 



Every minister should preach it 

From the pulpit, on the way; 
Every school on earth should teach it 

To its scholars day by day. 
'Twill surprise you — the explaining— 

But, alas, you'll find it's so, 
That three-fourths the world, and gaining. 

Are the people who don't knoiv. 



There will be but small salvation. 

Most surely statistics tell, 
If the rising generation 

Is helped on the road to hell 
By permitting them assemble 

In the city's licensed dives 
Where vice makes virtue tremble, 

And drink and lust wreck lives. 



That, I think, is the beginning 

Of the criminal's career; 
Cigarettes, too, help in winning 

Him a place as insincere. 
Disappears then life's ambition 

With the passing of the time; 
Worse each day grows his condition: 

Lazy, shiftless— then comes crime. 



There are places where subsistence 
Depends on the shame of youth, 

With a license for existence 

Sanctioned by the law, forsooth; 

^m, ^^ ^^ ^^^ 

yg ^^ yg c^ yg 

— 114— 



^i^~^^~^^~^~^ 



g 




And the prosperous condition 
Of the country, all the time, 

With their help leads to pei'dition. 
And does not decrease the crime. 

So, what chance have earnest toilers 

For a grand and noble cause 
'Gainst the human soul despoilers 

Who are santioned bj' the laws? 
What chance have tireless workers 

In the cause of right and truth 
'Gainst the character besmirchers 

Of the country's hopeful youth? 

When the right lav/s are enacted 

For such joints, without a flaw, 
When diligence has exacted 

The enforcement of the law, 
There's cause for hope of finishing 

The great task begun (in time), 
Of successfully diminishing 

The existing sway of crime. 



Love Them Both So Well. 



One has eyes of heavenly blue. 

One has eyes of brown. 
One has hair of raven hue. 

One wears a golden crown. 
Both have hearts quite true I know. 

In graces both excel; 
I cannot choose — my lot is woe — 

I love them both so well. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

^: ^g yg ^^ yg 



—115- 



3?^ S?e3 ^S^ ^S?«^ ^5^ 




The BlacK Sheep. 



A foolish black sheep got lost from the flock 
and wandered away from the care 

Of the Shepherd who was so kind and true, and 
wanted the black sheep there. 

But farther away did the foolish sheep stray in- 
to the wilderness' gloom 

Of a country unknown, where the sun never 
shone and flowers were never in bloom. 



When summer was spent and the dreaded event 

of fierce winter gales came. 
And the cold winds blew and chilled him 

through and he was weary and lame. 
He sank in despair in the wilderness there, 

where the snow was cold and deep, 
And none came near the cries to hear of the 

poor, foolish wayward sheep. 

The sound of a voice made the sheep rejoice— a 
voice so eager and deep— 

'Twas the voice of love and it came from above, 
the Shepherd in search of his sheep. 

With tenderest care he soothed the despair of 
the sheep so wayward and black, 

And with joy untold took him back to the fold- 
so glad to get his sheep back. 

The wilderness' gloom is a dull prison tomb, and 

the land of despair and sin, 
And, lo, every day there is going that way (the 

black sheep— wayward men.) 



<^ c^ c^ ^i^ ^8^ 



-116- 



::m :^^ ^m :m :^m 
^^ ^^ M^ ^^ i 



$^ 



^ 



5HUT-IN 50NG5 



Jesus, the Shepherd, comes, through His word 
and calls them back out of the gloom 

And leadeth them where pastures are fair and 
nature is ever in bloom. 



Don't Rail at Fate. 



Don't rail at fate and fret and fume for things 
that might have been, 

But start anew good deeds to do, e'en as suc- 
cessful men. 

Opportunities, when past, to us are lost for aye. 

But on Time's horizon will dawn the light of 
another day. 

If we try to pierce the future — who knows — per- 
haps we'll see 

A fair and sunny prospect of things that are to 
be. 

As sure as night will follow day and sunshine 
follow rain, 

Our lives are as we make them, and as our deeds 
ordain. 

Those who misfortune's path have trod optimis- 
tic views should hold; 

Should in the future know there are dearer 
things than gold. 

Mistakes we've made. Let us forget, and think 
of things to be— 

Of good on earth that we may do, and then- 
Eternity. 



^»^ ^»^ ^ ^ 

yg yg yg ^»^ ^.^ 



-117— 



S£ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



5HUT-1N 50N&5 



The Making of Bill. 



Joe Marmaduke had three children, Henry and 
and Tom and Bill; 

He'd toiled and saved that they might go to the 
school house on the hill, 

When crops were all "laid by" it was a common 
rule 

For folks to give the boys a chance to go to dis- 
trict school. 



Henry and Tom were studious, good looking, 
bright and smart. 

And each night by the candle light they'd learn 
their lessons "by heart;" 

But, Bill somehow, just wouldn't learn like the 
others in the school, 

And the teachers used to say he was as stub- 
born as a mule. 



And he disappeared suddenly — he rode away one 

night 
When the moon was hid behind the clouds and 

the stars were hid from sight. 
Next morning when the daylight came and the 

sun peeped o'er the hill, 
A neighbor's barn was open and his horse was 

gone— with Bill. 

It almost broke his mother's heart that he 

should be disgraced. 
(The absent one in the old homestead can never 

be replaced.) 

^ ^ ^ '^ 
^gg yg ^^ ^^ Mg 

—118— 



? 



I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



The gray hairs quickly multiplied and silvered 

his fathers head; 
The grief to them was more acute than if Bill 

had been dead. 

Never a word was heard from him 'till fifteen 
years had gone; 

He'd mingled with the city's throng— with the 
tide had drifted on 

To shoals that dot the sea of life, the cause of 
the straggler's griefs, 

And Bill's canoe had stranded on unknown hid- 
den reefs. 



Convicted and sent to prison to pay the price of 

a crime, 
His heart was filled with dread and woe at the 

thought of "doing time." 
But as the days passed slowly, hope wrought a 

change in Bill; 
He learned the lesson that he missed in the 

school house on the hill. 



At evening when his work was done and his les- 
sons had been learned. 

Back across the fleeting years his memory al- 
ways turned 

To the meadows and clover fields, where the 
daisies were in bloom 

And the roses in the homestead yard shed their 
sweet perfume. 



But one day the doors were opened and the 

prison left behind 
And he had thoughts of better things engraved 

upon his mind. 



^' ^ ^ ^ 

cagg ^»^ yg yg yg 



—119— 



a^ a^ :!^ 3^.,^ 
^>^ yg yg yg 



.if*> 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

— • 



And forth into the world he went, imbued with 

good intent, 
To make amends for past mistakes in hopeless 

living spent. 

The clear eyed stalwart stranger that ap- 
proached the old home-place. 

With resolution in his eye and hope writ on his 
face 

Was the self-same straggler that rode away 
one night 

When the moon was hid behind a cloud and the 
stars were hid from sight. 

Joyously they greeted him round the fireside 

circle there 
And grateful hearts gave thanks to God as they 

kneeled in family prayer. 
And the darkness cloaked the earth and the 

moon rose o'er the hill, 
Hearts once sad once more were glad for the safe 

return of Bill. 



A Freak in Physiognomy. 



Did you ever see a "gazabo" 
Whose head was like a tomato- 
Covered with hide 
And "sloppy" inside — 
With bumps on it like a potato. 




^0S^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

t^ i^. t^. (^ (^ 



-120- 



3?«^ 3?«^ 3P^ 3*e^ 3^ 
^>^ ^«?^ M^ y^ 

SHUT-IN 50NG5 



He is Risen! 



On this lovely Easter morning, 
With the buddin,^ life adorning 
Every hill and every valley with the most beau- 
tiful array, 
Is there one on earth to doubt it 
Who has ever heard about it? 
"Christ is risen," and before us He has gone to 
point the way. 



Never will grow old the story 
Of the suffering and glory 
Of the consecrated Savior, born in Bethlehem, 
of old. 
To the world the news is broken 
In every language spoken, 
"Christ is risen!" 0, rejoice ye! Let the story 
oft be told. 



O, is it, then, surprising 
That the sun, when it is rising, 
Never fails to warm and gladden hearts of men, 
within its scope? 
Hills and meadows, with their blooming. 
All the earth in Spring perfuming. 
Brings the message: "He is risen!" and awakens 
new born hope. 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^1^ 
yg ^^ CaJg ^8^ ^g 

—121— 




^J^ y^ y?^ ^8^ 




Life's Little Tilings. 



A wild bird's song is a little thing- 
Lost in the deeps of a frowning sky— 

Yet, as it falls on the ear, 'twill bring 
Melody's joys — and we pass it by. 

But earth's green seems of a brighter hue 

As we hear the notes of the wild bird's song, 

And the frowning sky has a tint of blue, 
And Ufe seems sweet as we pass along. 

A mother's love is a little thing- 
Alas, too soon forgot; but true, 

Whatever befall, her love will chng 

To the wayward child this whole life through. 

And it typifies to humankind 

The mother's patience, calm and sweet, 

To bear with hope and trust divine 

The willful wrongs her love may meet. 

A passing smile is a little thing — 

Lost in a world of toil and care — 
But to suuls with gloom oppressed 'twill bring 

A balm that will often soothe despair. 
And lives wearied with sorrow the while 

Will happier be in the afterglow 
Of each warm and kindly passing smile 

That lightens a brother's burden of woe. 

A kindly word is a little thing— 

A breath that goes and a sound that dies— 
But it cheers as the songs the wild birds sing, 

And to azure blue changes frowning skies. 



^^ €«^ €SJ!^ ^g^ 

^gg: ^^ ^^ yg Mg 



—122— 



' ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



And hearts that speak it the joy may know 
That is felt by the heart that has heard, 

And hearts that are sad forget their woe 
Through the power of a kindly word. 



Just Tell Them I'll Be Here. 



(Parody on "Tell Mother I'll Be There.") 

An old friend took the convict's hand, a tear 
shone in his eye 

As he bade his old playmate a last and sad good- 
bye. 

"Perhaps some message you would like to send 
to loved ones dear." 

The convict said: "Just tell them I'll be here." 



Chorus: 

"If you should chance to roam back to my dear 
old home, 
Just take this message to my mother dear. 
Just tell her I'll be here at least another 
year. 
0, tell my darling mother I'll be here." 

When he first came to prison the day I well re- 
call. 

He little dreamed 'twould be his luck to have to 
do it all. 

A child of fate he's traveling along a roadway 
drear. 

And indefinitely he'll be here. — Cho. 



s? *i**i. ^ ^ y^ I 
yg yg yg yg ^^ 



—123— 



::^ a^ :^^ :!^ im 
^jgg y^ y^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 




Summertime Ruminations. 



The meadow lark sings a tune 
On the mossy banks of the clear lagoon, 
And the cardmal and loud blue jay 
Have raised their broods and gone away 
To the shady nooks in the forest's gloom, 
Where the air is full of sweet perfume. 
They'll build their new nests near some pool 
That's crystal-like and fresh and cool, 
Where round the banks the daisies grow 
And whisp'ring breezes come and go. 



The squirrel gambols o'er the hills 
Where beech trees shade trickling rills 
And the june-bugs and the bumblebees 
Drone sweet tunes to the chickadees. 
The woodchuck and the chipmunk play 
In the wooded depths where the raccoons 

stay, 
And the 'possum, with expectant glee. 
Keeps an eye on the 'simmon tree. 



The whole landscape is clothed in green, 
And though by us it is not seen. 
We know the flowers, fair and bright. 
Are blooming by the scents at night 
That comes with the breeze into our cells, 
Bringing us those longing spells. 



^jg^ ^«^ €a^ ^^ 
Q^ yg cagg €aag: yg 



-124- 



^S^ 5?^ ^S^ ^S^ 3P^ 

^»^ ^>^ ^^ yg 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Beyond this gloomy prison wall- 
Beyond these turrets, grim and tall — 
The fertile, sloping harvest fields 
With bountiful and paying yields 
Of ripening grain are all aglow 
In the bright sunlight that makes them grow 
And sweet tunes from the reapers throats 
In joyous, happy cadence floats 
Across the fields to the distant hills 
Whore plaintive songs of whippoorwills 
Sound in joyful, happy strains 
The sweetest of all sweet refrains. 



The cell-house rings with the sparrows' song, 

The song we've heard all summer long. 

These long dog days, so dull and hot, 

Are days of toil and disturb him not. 

From early morn to dusky eve 

He lets us know that he does not grieve 

By his joyful song that fills the air 

And sweeps away his thoughts of care. 

A lesson from this little bird, 

Whose joyful tunes we all have heard. 

That gathers joy from the dull turmoil 

And the routine of its daily toil, 

'Tis well if some of us could learn. 

Who for pleasure fain would spurn 

The tasks that border duty's ways 

During these warm summer days. 



Slow, but sure, the days pass on; 

Soon the summer will be gone. 

And the autumn days, bleak and drear. 

With frosty, cold nights will be here. 

Through the prisoner's telescope, 

Plain is seen the Star of Hope. 

It gleams far off across Time's space. 

And, drawing near, we count each pace. 



!? M^ ^j^ ^8^ M§: 
^agg Q^ ^i^ ^^ 




—125— 



5^ 5^ 3^ -S^ 3^ 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 




The days we're counting, one by one, 
Will turn to years, and when they're "done" 
'Twill seem as though the time that's past 
On swiftest wings has fleeted fast, 
With naught to break the monotone 
Save the heartaches that we know alone. 



Just let us try and realize 
The blessings that we fain should prize, 
That come direct from the God of love. 
Who reigns supreme o'er the hosts above. 
And prize the blessings we receive 
And with stout hearts forget to grieve. 



Long ago, in a distant land, 
Where carnage reigned on every hand. 
And the world was full of selfish men, 
Who scoffed at law and lived in sin. 
Uncertain in beliefs and creed, 
Uncertain what decrees to heed, 
In a far-off corner of the earth 
A child was born, of lowly birth. 
To teach the world the way to live- 
In charity to take and give. 



He walked the Sea of Galilee; 

He touched the blind and made them see; 

He cured the sick and healed the lame 

And blessed believers in His name. 

He took away the lepers dread 

And from the grave he raised the dead. 



^^ ^ ^^ ^ ^^ 



—126— 



:^ :!^ :^^ :^^ :^^ 
^)^ Mg ^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



In Jerusalem and Bethlehem 

He saved the souls that heeded Him, 

And brought a joy to men on earth 

Of true and everlasting worth. 

He preached to throngs on Jordan's banks, 

Teaching them to give God thanks. 

And to live the life that brings true peace. 

And brings rewards when life shall cease. 



By a kiss he was betrayed 
To the ones for whom He'd prayed. 
He bore the cross on which died 
Up the rock-strewn, steep hillside 
Where Calvary's broad landscape rolls, 
And died in pain to save men's souls. 



Hundreds of years have passed away. 
But Jesus of Nazareth lives today 
In the hearts of men o'er the universe 
(Outside the ban of idolatry's curse) 
Wherever the dazzling sunlight fills 
The dimples in the vales and hills, 
And wherever civilization's worth 
Is unknown upon this mundane earth. 



The mode of life that Jesus planned 
Adown the length of time has spanned. 
The world has been revolutionized. 
And hearts of men are humanized. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

^8lg ^^ %^ yg 



-127— 



^5?^ 3?e^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 
y^ €j^ y^ ^^ 




We who've fell from grace and dwell 
Within a gloomy prison cell, 
Should stop to think and realize 
That convicts are the ones to prize 
The good to mankind Jesus brought 
When in the hearts of men he wrought 
The change from hate and sin to love — 
With hopes of eternal life above. 

When our lot seems hard to bear, 
And we'd bewail our share of care, 
If we're to ever be worth while, 
Lets not frown, but try and smile. 
Let us think, and let us prize 
The blessings we should realize. 
Tis well for us if we should note 
The little verse some poet wrote: 

' 'No longer forward nor behind 

I look in dread or fear. 
But grateful take the good I find, 

"The best of now and here." 



Optimistic Philosophy. 



It's a mighty good thing if you'll be optimistic 

When everything seems to go wrong. 
It makes poor complexion to be pessimistic 

As life's disappointments come along. 
An inmate, who's waiting his time's termination. 

Said, displaying philosopher's knack, 
"When you don't go no place there's one con- 
solation, 

You don't never have to come back." 



(^ ^3^ ^^ ^^ 

yg ^a^ ^i^ yg yg 



—128- 



^^ ^^ ^s^ s^ 3^ 
^?^ ^^ ^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN 50NG5 



Be a Man! 



Be a man! 
Meet your troubles fair and square. 
Drop that look of sore despair, 

And be a man! 
If the sun don't chance to shine, 
It won't bring it out to whine. 
So, brace up and show the sign 

That you're a man. 



Be a man! 
There will come a brighter day 
When the clouds will drift away— 

If you're a man. 
With a heart both pure and true, 
Plan the nobler things to do. 
And rewards will come to you — 

If you're a man. 



Be a man! 
One who can withstand the wave 
Of temptation, and be brave — 

A manly man. 
When life's troubles come to rile, 
Meet them as a man and smile. 
Prove yourself to be worth while. 

Be a man! 



cagg <^ ca^ -^a^ (^ 



-129- 



3^ 3^ 3^ :3^ ^3?^ 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

5HUT-IN SONGS 



Some Freaks of Nature. 



I have seen some freaks of nature in my travel- 
ings around 

That the famous P. T. Barnum would have cap- 
tured, had he found, 

From the Government official to the bug-house 
lunatic, 

From the follower of Dowie to the Roman Cath- 
olic, 

From the African gorilla to the circus chimpan- 
zee. 

From the real Missouri donkey to the beast of 
Tennessee, 

But we have some freaks of nature in this Ref. 
that I can name 

That could make the whole caboodle go and soak 
their heads in shame. 



I have seen a drove of cattle on the plains in 
full stampede 

That were raising clouds of bitter dust to choke 
them in their speed. 

And I caught the glint of thoughtlessness as 
they were passing by 

That was showing from each critter's excited 
thoughtless eye. 

Well, we've got some timber animals of anti- 
quated style 

Who, for looking simply thoughtless have the 
cattle skinned a mile. 



^ ^ ^ M^ 

yg yg ^agg yg yg 



-130— 



^S^ ^5«»^ 31*^ 3^ 3f^ 
Mg Mg ^^ ^g^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

=• == 



When the reason is dissected you can see the 

good excuse: 
"What's the use of thinkin'? 'cause there ain't 

a bit o' use." 



"What's the use of thinkin' when there's noth- 

in' to be thought? 
What's the use o' worryin' because a feller's 

caught? 
What's the use o' grievin' for the freedom o' 

the street? 
What's the use o' growlin'? Don't you get 

enough to eat? 
What's the use o' cussin' 'cause the Board don't 

let you out? 
There's something that is worse than that for 

folks to grieve about, 
And that is bein' bothered ev'ry day by doin' 

work. 
They oughter leave a feller 'lone an' let 'im be 

er shirk!" 



Enormous Tasks. 



As large a job of surgery as any man could 

wish, 
No matter how ambitious, would be in Lansing 

Mich. 
As large a job of moving of v hich I've heard or 

know 
Is Wheeling West Virginia. They say that it 

is so. 



^^ ^^ ^a^ ^^ 

^)^ ^)gg: yg yg ^jgg 

-131- 



3?«^ 3«!^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 
y^ y^ ^>^ ^^ i 

SHUT-IN 50NG5 

* 



Resembled, After All. 



He went into an artist's studio 
Where the elite for fancy pictures go, 
And he ordered in a rush 
A swell picture. He was flush. 
A rich relative had left this world of woe. 



When he came into possession of the cash 
He ascended way above the common trash 
And assumed the fancy airs 
Of the country's millionaires. 
He created a sensation— cut a dash. 



When the picture had been finished, to a touch. 
He decided that he didn't want it much, 

And he made an awful roar— 

That was heard a mile or more. 
He said his coin would never pay for such. 

He said that not a soul could tell 'twas he; 

That it was poorly painted, he could see; 
He said he'd soon leave home 
And would have it done in Rome — 

Have it done in just the way that it should be. 

When he left he was in an awful huff. 

And the names he called the artist were enough; 

But the artist wore a smile 

As he listened all the while. 
Said he: "My friend, I think I'll call your bluff." 



^OfZ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

^^ yg ^>^ yg yg 



-132— 



^J^ ^»^ M^ y^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 




So he retouched the picture, with quick stroke, 
And made the portrait seem a funny joke 

That would bring forth laughter's tears, 

For he gave him jackass ears 
And he placed it where it could be seen by folk. 

Then he, whose likeness it meant to impart 
Felt a flutter in the regions of the heart, 

And he sought the studio 

Just as fast as he could go; 
But the picture's price had risen with a start. 

One could tell just who it was without the name, 
And soon it brought to him much local fame. 

And although the price was high 

He was willing quite to buy, 
And he bought it from the artist just the same. 



He Wanted to See the Guy. 



High up on the beach a huge anchor lay. 

Unused for many a year. 
Pat Rooney stood round and watched it each day. 

For a week he was always quite near. 
"Why are you here?" asked a cop, passing by, 

"Now, what do you want, you Mick?" 
Says Pat: "Shure, Oi'm waitin' to look at th' guy 

Thot's able to handle thish pick." 



^8^ €s^ ^ <S^ 

Ca^ €g^ ^^ yg ^^ 



—133— 



3?e^ 3?^ ^S?e^ 3^ 3^ 
^8^ yg ^ ^8^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



The Liar. 



In our shop we have a liar; 

Some whoppers he can tell, 
And those who listen must admire- 

He "gets them off" so well. 



If you should tell a little one — 
Just harmless— to deceive, 

He'll start a whopper on the run 
That no one can believe. 



He knows tales old as Noah's Ark, 

And they are not a few. 
If they don't beat your chance remark 

He thinks up something new. 



"It just reminds me of the time—" 
Or "That ain't large at all—" 

Or "I have lived where summer clime 
Was never known at all!" 



He's been in Russia, been in Spain, 
He's dined with English peers. 

For years he sailed the Spanish main 
With Morgan's buccaneers. 



He's crossed the Alps in quest of health; 
He's been in Italy; 



€^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
^)^ %^ €^g ^^ ^^ 

—134— 






$' 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



He's sought Alaska's golden wealth; 
He's been in "gay Paree." 



He's been a circus acrobat 

With Barnum's railroad show; 

A pugilist and in combat 

He whipped a worthy foe. 



He's kept extensive sets of books; 

He's been an engineer; 
He's been a chef in charge of cooks; 

He's been an auctioneer. 



But thinking o'er untruthful things 
That from his tongue unroll, 

Naught have I heard him say that brings 
Woe to a brother's soul. 



When a feller's feeling bad, 

With troubles to dismay, 
He'll greet him, saying, "Well, my lad. 

You're looking good today." 



And when some job you've tried to do. 
And fell short of the line, 

With cheerful words he'll say to you, 
"Now, that's what I call fine." 



At times we cannot help admire 
(He has a certain charm) 

The cheerful optimistic liar 
Who does nobody harm. 



y^' y^ y^ ysi" 
yg ^>^ yg yg yg 



—135— 



^8^ y?^ €8^ ^J^ 



5HUT-IN SONGS 



My Old Arkansas Home. 




In a flower-scented valley where the old Red 
River flows 

And the cotton fields in bloom are won- 
drous fair 
Is the humble little homestead that my child- 
hood mem'ry knows, 

High ideals of life were fostered there. 
The sunbeams drank the dewdrops as they 
glistened on the ferns 

On the morning that I left, the world to 
roam. 
And though I've wandered far away my heart in 
sadness yearns 

For the scenes around my old Arkansas 
home. 



Chorus: 

The morning glories there are all in bloom, 
The atmosphere is filled with sweet perfume, 

And a gurgling, dancing rill 

Sings a song beneath the hill. 
As it winds through the shady forest gloom. 
I see the lane where oft' I used to roam 
With sweetheart Mary in the evening's gloam 

And the golden sunlight glows 

On the sweet shrub and rose. 
0, I'm longing for my old Arkansas home. 



y^ y^ ^ y^ 
yg yg yg yg yg 




—136— 



S^ 3^ 5^ 5^ ^^ 
yg yg ^ ^»^ £ ' 

SHUT-IN SONGS ^^ 



As I strolled along at evening through the busy 
city's ways 

When the toil for the day at last is o'er 
I let my memory dwell on the longed-for happy 
days 

When I can see the dear old home once 
more. 
I long to see the vales once more where sweet 
magnolias grow 

And through the blooming cotton fields to 
roam. 
There's no place like the old home, after all, I 
truly know. 

0, I'm longing for my old Arkansas 
home.— Cho. 



An Insultin' Cuss. 



Gals are skearse out on the plains 
In Arizona's wild domains. 
Around cow camps, at least, I mean, 
It's seldom that a gal is seen. 

Wal, when Coyote Jim give a ball 
An' issued notes invitin' all 
To come down to the shack and dance. 
With eagerness we cinched the chance. 

. ^" ^ «^ *^ 
c^ ^|g ^a^ yg yg 

—137— 



:^ am :^^ :^^ :^^ 
^>^ Mg ^ yg j 



$^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Our eagerness increased ten-fold 
When Jim rode around the camp and told 
The boys a gal — no squaw — but white 
Would be present on that night. 



"She's a cow-gal," Jim had said, 
"With flowing locks of fiery red, 
And with a captivatin' smile 
That would a fellow's heart beguile. 



"Any critter she can ride 
That walks on fours and wears a hide. 
She's "killed her man," — a wild cat's wrath 
Is tame — if any cross her path." 



With grease our hair was plastered sleek 
An' new boots creaked a merry creak 
When the night arrived, and a fiddle 
Shrieked away, "Hi-diddle-diddle. " 



And when the belle would smile by chance. 

At some of us, or give a dance. 

We builded castles in the air 

And swelled in proud distinction's glare. 



A tenderfoot from Boston came, 
He had a longish actor's name; 
He wore a coat with just a tail, 
(The hull front cut away, by Cail.) 



He wore them shiny shoes; his hat 
Wuz shined, and a black cravat 



^i^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

^agg ^i^ Qgg ^^ yg 



—138— 



y^ M^ ^j^ ^j^ i 



5HUT-1N 50NG5 



Wuz tied to a collar so tall 
He couldn't see his feet at all. 



We thought he'd weave a mystic spell 
Round the heart of the prairie belle, 
And castles built high in the air 
Collapsed and left the debris there. 



Bowing low o'er her calloused hand 
With chivalry at his command 
He brought the member to his lips 
And kissed the lady's finger tips. 



"Chawming! Doncherknow, you're quite 
The fairest maid I've met tonight. 
You look, Ah hawv to say, 
Just like a Boston debutante." 



The belle's gray eyes with anger gleamed 
And she loudly her resentment screamed. 
"Take that back, you jacked-legged banter! 
Don't call me a da-bu-tan-ta. " 



"Hang him! Lynch him!" yelled the crowd. 
The tenderfoot, completely cowed, 
Dashed headlong through the open door 
And ran as man ne'er ran before. 



A posse went in quick pursuit 
The villain-wretch to catch and shoot. 
But speed wuz geared up to his fright. 
An' he traveled far in the passing night. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

^^ ^ l^ ^g ^8^ 



—139— 



3^ 3^ 3?«^ 3?^ 3^ 

r M^ ^^ y^ y^ 



5HUT-1N SONGS 



The Goat That Talked. 




In an old apple orchard a billy-goat, grazin g, 
Came near to a hive where were humming 
the bees. 
He stopped for an instant, and upwardly gazing. 
Saw them getting honey from buds on the 
trees. 



For some unknown reason it made him indignant 
To think that the bees could so easily fly. 

He uttered a protest and, looking malignant, 
He saw them fly back to the hive closely by. 



He raised up his tail and began to shake it; 

The hair on his back became bristled and stiff. 
His look, which was fierce as his visage could 
make it, 

Told he contemplated a rush and a "biff." 



He slowly backed off to a good running distance 
And forward he rushed like a cannon ball 
flash. 

With naught to impede him or offer resistance. 
He butted the hive off its feet with a crash. 



From the hive came a rush of honey bees flying; 

They lit in a swarm on the back of the goat. 
Each bee with a buzz of indignity, crying, 

A load made as heavy as Billy could "tote." 







—140— 



^S^ ^S?«^ 3^ 3^.,^ 
y^ ^>^ ^aC Mg 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



As he ran round the pasture Hke flags his ears 
fluttered; 
He rolled in the grass and he kicked up the 
sod; 
He pinioned one down 'neath his tail— then he 
uttered 
This sentence quite plainly "M-y G-o-d! O! 
M-y G-o-d!" 



Looking Back. 



I've been looking back, of late — 

Got lots of "time," I'll state — 

To look back o'er the days that's past, 

And on the milestones, fleeting fast, 

In retrospection to recall 

Happenings, and view them all. 

To reach success, the things we lack. 

How plain they seem — looking back. 



In my fancy I can see 
The swimmin' hole where Jack and me 
Used to swim and fish all day 
When from school we'd hie away, 
Playin' "hookey." Seems to me 
I can see the old beech tree 
Where our names, Jim and Jack 
Were carved — tonight— looking back. 



^8^ ^«^ ^8^ ^^ yg 



—141— 



3^ :^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

SHUT-IN SONGS 



I can see a brick saloon 
As it was that day in June 
When Jack and I paused before 
That grog-shop's open door. 
We stepped inside for a drink, 
Knowing not upon the brink 
We stood, o'er a chasm black, 
But now I know — looking back. 



Every time that way we'd pass 

We'd stop for a friendly glass 

Of cool, foaming lager beer 

(For friendship's sake and good cheer.) 

Had a phonograph inside 

Which would check the human tide 

Which flowed past. But alack ! 

What sorrow comes — looking back. 



I recall one summer night 
Jack drank too much — got "tight.' 
He and the barman fell out. 
Don't know what it was about. 
A shot rang out in the room 
And the barman met his doom. 
Murdered! Ah, poor old Jack! 
Makes me sad— just looking back! 



Took a week to try the case. 
And sympathy marked each face 
In the court room round about, 
When they brought the verdict out. 
Murder in the first degree! 
Ah! how poor Jack looked at me! 
Hollow-eyed, sad and pale— 
As they took him back to jail. 



^^^ ^8g^ ^ y^ 
yg €8^ ^ag ^g yg 



—142— 



^S«»^ ^S?e^ 3^ 3^ 3^ 

^>gg ^8gg Mg yg 



jn 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

=• ^= 



Looking back! My! Time goes fast! 
Don't seem long since vre strolled past 
That saloon one day in June — 
Stepped inside to hear a tune. 
Now, to think, were both grown men- 
Jack and I— both in the "pen." 
Come mighty near hanging Jack. 
I see it all— looking back. 



Jack got life. He said good-bye 
With no tear signs in his eye; 
But I could see his heart was broke, 
Though no regretful word he spoke, 
But looked with solemn gloom. 
Across the hills all abloom 
Toward the river, clear and cool, 
Where we often hid from school. 



The sun was brightly shining when 

They took Jack to the "pen" — 

Birds singing in the trees. 

Their songs floating on the breeze ; 

Never saw a nicer day 

Than when they took him away. 

With hope gone and future black— 

With handscuffs on— sat poor old Jack. 



Looking back ! I hear the tune 
Floating from the brick saloon 
Just as plain tonight as then. 
Although we're both grown-up men. 
Years, on Time's unceasing tide. 
Have passed since we stepped inside 
The brick saloon— me and Jack— 
For the first drink. Looking back! 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^IK 

fJ^. t^^. ^^^ ^^ 




—143— 



3^ 3?^ s^ ^s^ :3^ 

ca^ M^ y^ y^ 



5HUT-IN 50NG5 



A Message of Peace. 



[To Mrs. Maud Ballington Booth.] 

The sunlight that gleams o'er a world wondrous 
fair 

In billows of joyousness rolls, 
A message to weary hearts burdened with care — 

A balm to all sorrowing souls. 
It is the message you bring us today, 

Transcendent with infinite joys, 
And, O, "Little Mother," when you're far away, 

In memory 'twill cheer up "your boys." 



Chorus: 

Peace, peace, wonderful peace— 
A message direct from above. 

It tells of the time when sorrows shall cease 
And life shall be glorified love. 



The cloud that o'ershadows so many with 
gloom— 
A cloud that's as dark as the night. 
Is passing away and the world all abloom. 

Smilingly greets the sunlight. 
And the peace, O, the peace that comes after the 
storm 
When the shadowing clouds have rolled by, 
Makes the hearts once forlorn grow joyously 
warm 
With hope that descends from on High. — Cho. 

^^ ^^ ^8^ ^^ 

€a^ yg yg yg yg 

—144— 



I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 

=• = 



And, 0, "Little Mother," in saying good-bye, 

It causes each one of us pain. 
But in that country far off in the sky, 

We're hoping to see you again. 
The message you brought us will help us along; 

Will help us make lighter the load; 
Will help us to meet this life's troubles with 
song 

And bring us peace on the road. — Cho. 



The Printshop Devil. 



I've been told that old Kentucky 

Is the solitary state 
Where people born unlucky 

Are unknown to habitate, 
But I know there's one exception 

Where that rule does not apply. 
By the "Devil's" own conception 

He's a "dam unlucky guy." 

We would fain produce his photo, 

Just the page to decorate, 
But the trouble we'd need go to 

Kind o' makes us hesitate. 
So we'll try and draw a picture 

That describes him, with our pen. 
With imaginative mixture 

For good measure, now and then. 



^ ^ ^ *^ 

yg ^g ^^ ^^ yg: 



-145— 



3^ 3^ 3ji6 :5^ 5^ 

^»^ ^^ ^^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



He is pigeon-toed and limber; 

He's as great a sight to see 
As the wild man from the timber 

Or the Barnum chimpanzee; 
He is freckled and red-headed; 

He has cross-eyed eyes of blue, 
And his teeth are "pica leaded" — 

(Now you know he has but few). 



He is long and lean and lanky; 

He's as stubborn as a mule 
When he's feeling kind o' cranky, 

Which is seldom, as a rule; 
He has athlete combinations; 

Wears a number 'leven shoe. 
He displays, at times, gyrations 

Of a circus kangaroo. 



Gastronomy and eating? 

Well, he's got the whole world beat. 
And a man his record beating — 

Well — I'll tell you he must eat. 
He's a veritable slavy 

To the dish that won his coup, 
And that is common gravy. 

He just drinks it down like soup. 



But I'll tell you, on the level, 

(I don't think you'll think I'm wrong) 
That without the printshop "Devil" 

Printers couldn't get along. 
If you hand to him a "jolly" 

He is "Johnny on the spot," 
Get him in the mood and, golly! 

He can help you out a lot. 



y^ y^ t^ ^*i 
yg yg yg ^^ yg 



—146- 



^^ :^ ^^ ^s^ 5f<^ 
^1^ yg ^ yg 



c 



5HUT-IN SONGS 

=• — 



Longing. 



Wen I see de sun a-shinin' 
It jes starts my heart a-pinin' 

An' many happy days I can recall 
Ob dat happy sunny weather 
Wen we ust to roam together 

Thro' de silent woods in de spring an' fall. 



How I wish I wuz a-goin' 
Whar de flowers is a growin' 

In de medder whar de shiny dew is fallin', 
An' de medder larks is singin' 
An' the gentle wind is bringin' 

De soun' ob de whippoorwill a-callin'. 



0, how I am a-wishin' 
For de chance to go a-fishin' 
Whar de sunlight on the crystal waters 
gleam, 

Way up on de bank a settin' 
Widout worryin' an' frettin'; 
Jes pullin' perch and cat-fish out de 
stream. 



Boats up the river going' 
Wid de whistles a-blowin' — 

De soun, floats thro' de bars into de hall. 
O, Lordy, how I long 
For to mingle wid de throng 

An' peep at lifebeyon' dat high brick wall. 



^ ^«^ y^ y^ ^^ 
(^ (^ (^ (^ 



Jf^. 




—147— 



^ S^ S^ 3j^ Sp^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



According to the Golden Rule. 



With Good Measure. 



Ignatius Goldstein in his clothing store sat 

When the toil of a long day was o'er, 
Letting his mind drift to first this and that 

And scheming of gold to get more, 
When out of the gloom rose a figure in white. 

Which looked like a corpse in its shroud. 
Yet with eyes that gleamed bright through the 
darkness of night 

It chanted these words, slow and loud: 



"0. Mr. Goldstein, I'm Gabriel, of old, 

Who is noted for blowing his horn, 
I was sent back to earth on a mission that told 

Me to gladden some heart grown forlorn. 
If there's aught that you wish— regardless of 
worth— 

Which the universe may have in stock, 
You have but to name it ere I leave the earth. 

Which time will be twelve of the clock." 



Ignatius Goldstein- sat erect like a flash 
As he hurriedly gasped: "Vat you say? 

You gif to me clodings, or timon's, or cash 
Or buildings of brick vidout pay?" 



^ ^ ^ ^^ 

^^ ^8^ ^gg yg ^^ 



-148— 



5?«^ 3^ ^5?^ 3«»^ 3^ 
^^ ^^ ^ ^^ 




"Yes," answered Gabriel, with pleasant look, 
"Great riches shall soon know your touch. 

But of what you may choose, so 'tis writ in the 
Book, 
Cohen shall have twice as much." 



"Cohen vill haf twice as much dit you say 

Of vatefer dat I vish to choose? 
Mister Gabriel! Don't gif your presents avay 

To fellers like Cohen. You'll lose!!" 
But Gabriel answered by pointing on high 

To the clock which sat up on the shelf. 
And the seconds and minutes went hurriedly by, 

But Goldstien thought not of himself. 



"Just one minute more, " Gabriel said, 

"And it is fast passing away." 
Ignatius Goldstein then raised up his head 

And to Gabriel slowly did say: 
"Are you sure dat Cohen gets twice much 
as me. 

As a present sent down from de sky? 
Yes? Vait a minit— let me s-e-e — let me s-e-e. 

Schust gif to me blint in von eye." 



How Mean. 



"Will you have an old five-dollar bill 
Or a new one?" said newly-wed Will. 
Said his wifey with force, 
"Why, the new one, of course." 
Then he gave her a new dollar bill. 



^^ (i^ ^^. 




—149— 



^^ y?^ €^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Sermon on Hell. 



'Twas at an old camp-meeting-ground way down 
in Tennessee, 

Where the colored folks were holding an old- 
fashioned jubilee, 

That I found myself one morning when the sum- 
mer sun shone clear, 

In a seat among the worshipers, the preacher's 
words to hear. 



He was growing old and feeble and had scant 

and whitened hair. 
And face seamed by the passing of the years, 

with all their care. 
I knew when he was preaching he'd no college 

man's degree. 
His school had been the eighty years of life in 

Tennessee. 



"Ah ain't a-gwine ter talk today upon er Scrip- 
ture tex', 

Ah'm gwine ter talk erbout dis worl' an' not 
erbout de nex'; 

Erbout de things you got ter do 'fo' Jordon Rib- 
ber's crossed; 

Erbout de boat you got ter build ter keep fum 
gittin' lost. 

"0, brethren and sisters, dere's some facts Ah 

wants ter tell 
Relatin' ter de ravages ob sinfulness, an' hell. 




^ ««^ ^ ^ 

^ags: yg yg ^gg ^^ 



—150- 



^«^ ^8^ g^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Ah ain't talkin' 'bout de hell er man gits when 
he am daid; 

But 'bout de hell on earth dat's fallin' on er sin- 
ner's haid. 



"Experience will teach us fum de day ob our 

birth, 
An' we realize it later, dat dere am er hell on 

earth. 
When de debil gits a-holt you, ef you lets him 

hab his way. 
He am gwine ter lead you crooked— den dere's 

sho'ly hell ter pay. 



"You hab got ter be er so'jer in de Army ob de 

Right, 
An' er battle fierce an' constant you hab got ter 

go an' fight. 
You hab got ter keep er dodgin', ter de enemy's 

dislike, 
An' de spot whar you am weakes' am de spot 

whar he will strike. 



"Yo' passions am de weapons dat de debil's 

gwine ter use. 
Ef you doan watch out, Ah'll tell you, you am 

sho'ly gwine ter lose. 
De debil an' his so'jers gwine ter make ob you 

er slave 
Ef you doan keep on er watchin' an' be manly, 

true an' brave. 



"When Gabriel blows his trumpet ter announce 

de Jedgment Day, 
An' you stan's befo' de jedgment seat, what you 

gwine ter say? 



*;»^- ^' ^ ^ 
yg €j^ ^ ^^ ^^ 



-151- 



^^ y^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Is you gwine ter tell de Great Jedge dat you 

stumbled an' you fell, 
And dat you been er livin' all yo' natu'al life in 

hell? 

"But, brethren an' sisters, dere am also heaben, 

too, 
Foh de po'est an' de lowest. Dere am heaben 

heah foh you. 
Dere's an angel dat will gib you all er crown ob 

happiness 
An' er wand ter carry wid you fer ter keep 

erway distress. 

"De onlies' good weapon you can carry ter de 

fight 
Am de weapon ob religion. It's de weapon, 

shure, ob might. 
It will bring de joys ob Heaben on dis earth ter 

you each day. 
May you one an' all soon get it wid its blessin's. 

Let us pray." 



Venezuelan Hot Air. 



With thirty thousand soldiers brave, 
And battle flags unfurled, 

Comes Castro, like a mighty wave. 
To startle all the world. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

yg ^jge: yg ^a^ ^^ 



—152- 



" ' j^ ' j^ ' 2^ ' J^ ' j:^ 
I ^i^ ^^ ^i^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 




With plans of monstrous magnitude, 
Which reek of blood galore, 

With Napoleonic aptitude. 

In quest of fame and gore. 

Just like a "howling hurricane," 
Unchecked by mortal foe, 

From off their flag to wash the stain 
Of insult with one blow. 



Like Grant, during the Civil strife, 
Down in the Southern regions. 

Up through the States, destroying life, 
Is coming Castro's legions. 



Old Mississippi's fertile vale 
Sad war scenes will assume. 

And burning homes will tell the tale 
Of grief and woe and doom. 



Each beautiful Southern city 

This great and wondrous chap. 

With never a show of pity 

Will wipe clean off the map. 



Woe unto the United States 

And the red, white and blue! 

Sad to think Death's angel waits 
Our falling hosts to view. 



But let us cheer our lagging hopes; 

His victory's not "cinched. ' 
Castro and his bunch of mopes 

In N. 0. may get "pinched." 






—153— 



3^ 3^ :^ 3?«^ 3?^ 

^8^ ^^ €3^ ^8^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 




Hans' Soliloquy. 



Hans Printz Sabro iss mine name — 

In print it looks like Dutch. 
Although it has not yet gained fame, 

I like it wery much. 
I could have other names, you see; 

Dey're easier to find 
Dan dollars are, but one suits me, 

Und it iss yust mine kind. 

I am a yoUy Danish lad 

From far across the sea. 
I'm not considered wery bad — 

Nor as good as I could be. 
I live in Greenaa, Lillegade, 

Old Denmark's finest place. 
Mine fortune (vitch has not been made) 

Depends upon mine face. 

I took a notion in mine mind 

Dat I vould leave mine home 
And so I left mine friends behind 

And started fort' to roam. 
Mine heart was light mit hope and yoy 

Of future days to be. 
In all Denmark there was no boy 

More happier dan me. 

I vent to Copenhagen 

Und vent aboard de ship, 

Und mit mine passage taken, 
Vas feeling pretty "flip." 



^ ^ ^ ^ 
^^ ^' yg ^ ^^ 




—154- 



I ^^ ^^ M^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONG5 



Und vhile de ship vas bringing 

Me far across de sea, 
I vas, mit yoy a-singing— 

As happy as could be. 

I like dis country wery veil: 

It suits me to a "T." 
How long I'll stay I cannot tell, 

It don't depend mit me. 
But vhen mine fortune has been made 

Und I am free to roam, 
If long enough I think I've staid, 

I vill embark for home. 



Time Waits for No Man. 



Jim Lazyman went out to seek a position 
With wages quite large and with not much to 
do. 
He stood on the comer— made no proposition 

To any employer with hiring in view. 
He was sure that in time, Good Fortune, all 
smiling, 
Would stop at his house and would knock at 
his door. 
In the meantime he loafed on the street comer, 
whiling 
The valuable time as he'd done oft before. 



^ ^ ^m^ ^^ 
^^ ^r yg ^8^ ^£ 

-155— 



w 



a^ a^ :^ a^ :^ 
^ ^ ^ ^ 



SHUT-IN S ONGS 



The days that were speeding were passed off in 
fishing, 
And cursing his luck when the fish wouldn't 
bite, 
And dreaming and scheming, contriving and 
wishing 
That things in the future would come out all 
right. 
The jobs he secured often paid too small wages, 
So straightway he left something better to find, 
Thinking a man of his ilk who engages 
In honest pursuit should have just the best 
kind. 



But he woke up one morn to the true situation 
' And facts, as they were, he began to scan. 
Home to him came then the realization 

That he was fast growing to be an old man. 
Then he ran after Time, most woefully crying: 

"O, Time, just give me one more chance, i 
pray. ' ' 
"Too late," Time then answered, "in idleness 

lying 
You've passed all the best of your lifetime 
away. ' ' 



She Was From Missouri. 



Johnny Green and his brother Claude 
Bought a mule that pranced and pawed. 
They hitched her up. The mule hee-hawed. 
Biff!! bang!! Farewell, Her name was Maud. 



€a^ M^ y^ 
(J^ t^ (^. 



—156- 



^^ ^i^ 4^ ^^ 

5HUT-1N SONGS 



Easter Acrostic. 



Everywhere upon the earth 
Are joyful hearts today. 
Songs of praise, of joy, of mirth 
Take sorrow's pains away. 
Eastertide is here! Rejoice! 
Raise in praise of Christ thy voice! 

Jesus died on the cross to save 
E'en the soul of the outcast knave, 
For did He not on the cross forgive 
Fallen man and bid him live 
E'er He crossed the Eternal abyss. 
Reaching the shore of heavenly bliss? 
Sing the songs of joy and praise! 
Over the land His temples raise! 
Never does he fail to keep 
Vigil o'er the wand'ring sheep- 
Incorrigible, always wrong- 
Like the straggler from the throng. 
Lord, we bow in praise of Thee! 
Everywhere on bended knee! 

Ring the bells of joy and peace. 
Everywhere let worry cease, 
For Christ is risen from the dead! 
O, bless the cross where Jesus bled! 
fneceive into thy heart today 
Morals strewn along life's way 
And treasure them, for Jesus died 
That your life might be glorified. 
O, 'twas for you that Jesus bled. 
Remember, then, that from the dead 
Your Savior rose and lives today. 



. g^ y^ ^8^ ^J^_ 

€^ fc^ c^ar cajg: ^jgg 



-157— 



^J^ ^8^ ^^ y^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



A Child Again at Niglit. 



0, I love to sit at evening when the toil of day 
is o'er 
And the shadows change the twilight into 
gloam, 
And in memory go backward to my boyhood 
days once more 
And the scenes around my dear old Southern 
home. 
I can see my darling mother as she looked long, 
long ago, 
Before her raven locks had turned to gray, 
And the little cottage nestHng where the spread- 
ing oak trees grow 
And the mocking birds were singing every 
day. 



Chorus:— 

0, I am a child again often at night 

And am at home with you, mother, once more. 
My heart, oft so heavy, is joyously light, 

As I drift back to Boyland's fair shore. 
I kneel at your feet near the old rocking chair, 

As I did in the days long ago. 
And earnestly pray again that childish prayer 

That so early you taught me to know. 



When I'm feeling sad and lonely, it is then my 
heart repines 
For the scenes that in my boyhood days I knew; 



«3^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
^g yg yg yg yg 



—158— 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 






5HUT-IN SONGS 



For the humble little cottage where the honey 
suckle vines 
In profusion round the porch in summer grew. 
I can hear my mother plainly as she softly 
speaks my name. 
Then forgotten are the worries that annoy. 
Tho' the passing years have changed the place 
in fancy 'tis the same 
As it was when I was just a Httle boy. 



An Apt Scholar. 



When Jim complained of aching head— 

From being out too late— 
His wife looked solemn as she said: 

"My dear, don't dissipate. 
There's one word you must learn to say 

As through this world you go — 
'Twill easier become each day — 

The word to say is: 'No!' " 

"Good-bye," said Jim, as off he went 

At eight toward the shop. 
But after him his wifey sent 

A call for him to stop. 
"I most forgot to ask you, dear, 

For five before you go. 
I need another hat this year." 

Quite easy Jim said: "No!" 



^ ^ y^ ^ 

^<^ yg yg ^i^ ^8^ 



-159- 



'" 'J^ 'J^ 'Jm 'J^ 'J^ 
^^ (^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 

=-K = 



Comin' ob de Spring. 



De busy sounds o' life comes a-creepin' o'er de 

wall, 
An' when de window's open it floats into de 

hall. 
De sun dat comes shinin' in my cell don't fail to 

bring 
A feelin' o' gladdness for de comin' o' de spring. 



Even in the smalles' cells we smell de sweet 

perfume 
0' things dat we know outside right soon is 

gwine to bloom, 
It brings us recollections dat ever to us cling. 
Boys dat are in prison are mighty glad to see de 

spring. 



Wen Ohio River steamboats come puffin' up de 

river, 
I feel like givin' thanks to de great Blessin' 

Giver. 
I listens for its soundin' an' it never fails to 

bring 
Assurance o' de fact o' de comin' o' de spring. 



De sparrows are a-chirpin' in de window ev'ry 

morn. 
An' de dew is glistenin' Hke de di'mon's on de 

lawn. 



■<^ y^ ^J^ €^ 



—160- 



^S^ :S^ 3^ 3^ 3pe^ 
^^ ^>^ ^ ^»^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



An' de notes o' de blue bird an' de robin w'en 

dey sing, 
Makes me know it's on de way— de comin' o' de 

spring. 



Ef my life's mo' troublesome den seems it ought 

to be, 
Still I'm glad I'm livin' w'en I hear Nature's 

plea, 
An' see Nature's beauties, dey never fail to 

bring 
A feelin' o' gladness for de comin' o' de spring. 



Parable of the Talents. 



The Master gave a spirit brave two talents to 
use on earth. 

With no sign of shirk he went to work and faith- 
fully proved his worth; 

And amid the strife encountered in life he gar- 
nered contentment's sheaves, 

And he proved each day there's joy on the way 
for men who strive to achieve. 



Another man grieved because he received one 

talent only in life. 
He deplored the way that he toiled each day, 

he could not stand so much strife. 



? ^^ w^ w^ w^ , 
^id^ ^i^ yg €8^ yg 



—161- 



3^ 3?e^ 3?^ 3?^ 3^ 
I ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



\ 



5HUT-IN SONGS 



With his lot came care, which was hard to bear, 

(he hardly received life's needs,) 
So he grieved in the shade, near the forest glade, 

while his crop was spoiled by the weeds. 

A talent — 'tis health— not measured by wealth, 
the Master gave you and me. 

So that as we live our efforts we'll give to ac- 
complish the good that we see. 

No heritage, grand, with houses and lands, is as 
great as the gift of life 

And of mind to cope, by braveness and hope 
with vicissitudes and strife. 

The Master, sublime, has given us time to ac- 
complish deeds on our way; 

With human power to treasure each hour let us 
meet life's purpose each day. 

If we sat in the shade that the forest made de- 
ploring sorrows and needs. 

The time would pass by as a cloud in the sky and 
our crops would be spoiled by the weeds. 



Hallucinations. 



"No use to write," the poet cried, 

I lack the "inspiration." 
'Tis but in vain that I have tried 

This strenuous occupation. 
The sentences will not "rhyme up," 

No matter how I try them; 
The "feet" somehow, will not "time up," 

Most everyone would "guy them.' 



^ <s^ y^ y^ 
yg yg yg ^ yg 



—162— 







The birds that flit about at dawn 

Don't "twitter"— only "tattle;" 
I see the grass upon the lawn— 

'Tis only fit for cattle; 
The "sun that's sinking in the west," 

I see it from my window; 
It "sinks behind the distant crest," 

Without a show of "splendor." 



The darkness comes and through the bars 

My wistful gaze is roaming; 
But "silv'ry moon" and "twinkling stars" 

Don't show up in the "gloaming." 
And when into the bed I creep 

And wrap up in the cover, 
Around the bed whereon I sleep 

Bad Dreamland phantoms hover. 



No dreams have I of "dear old home" 

That "nestles 'mid the bowers;" 
No "moonlit evenings" do I roam 

'Mong "pretty, fragrant flowers;" 
No "words of love" to "sweetheart dear," 

Like: "How I love you, Mary." 
I never shed a "glistening tear," 

Nor called her "little fairy." 



The sounds of "life" float o'er the walls 

At four bells in the morning; 
The gray light in my cell recalls 

The fact that day's a-borning; 
It brings no joy into my heart; 

It makes no "thrill of gladness." 
This is a day that's set apart 

For pessimistic sadness. 



^^ ^^ ^ ^ 

^^ €g^ yg yg yg 



—163— 



3^ 3^ 3^ ^s^ ^s^ 

€a^ ^?^ M^ ^^ 



5HUT-1N 50NG5 



A Soldier's Revery. 



He sat within a prison cell, 

Alone— his friends untrue— 

A convict now, who once looked well 
In a soldier's suit of blue. 



In fancy back to battlefields 

At even' oft he strays. 
And o'er his sorrowed face there steals 

A smile — for better days. 

He sees the far-off Southern town 
Where friends and loved ones stay; 

He sees them as they gathered 'round 
When the soldier marched away. 

He calls to mind that sacred kiss 
That smoothed a world of care, 

Of the pretty little bright-eyed miss 
With the locks of golden hair. 

The mail man never stops before 
The door of the convict lone; 

The dearest friends he knew of yore, 
Like passing years have gone. 

His lonely heart beats not with woe 
Because of friends so few; 

But with the pain just those can know 
Whose friends have proved untrue. 



yg €^g ^agg 'yg yg 




-164— 



^Sf«^ ^^ ^Sfe^ ^S^ 5^ 
^8^ ^a^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN 50NGS 



Have a Mind of Your Own. 



Have a mind of your own 
And let it be known 

If your intentions are to "get right." 
Don't put it off 
Because someone may scoff 

At your endeavor to make a good fight. 



Remember, 'tis you 
Who have things to do, 

As you travel along your way, 
And, with all your might, 
Stand up for the right. 

In spite of what others may say. 



There's always a hope 
For the man who will cope 

With the problems confronting his life, 
As though he understood 
The way that he should 

Be identified in the strife. 



Each one of us knows. 
As onward he goes 

Through this life, there's only one way. 
One path to be trod 
And that leads to God, 

With joy, hope and peace on the way. 



€«c ^^ M§: ^^ 
^gg ^rig ^^ ^^ ^^ 




—165- 



:^^ :^ ::^ :!^ 
^8^ ^8^ ^i^ y^ 



5HUT-IN SONGS 



The Helping Hand. 



If the fallen try to rise up and to walk within 
the light, 

And, guided by the gleams of Hope, are striving 
to ' 'get right, ' ' 

Remember that true charity is Christian-like 
and grand; 

Don't push them down but help them rise! Ex- 
tend the helping hand. 

If you see a fellow-being at the bottom of the 

hill, 
Who is striving up the incline with the proper 

kind of will, 
Just pass to him encouragement that he may 

understand 
You're glad to see the fallen rise. Extend the 

helping hand! 

Long ago the Star of Bethlehem gleamed bright- 
ly in the night 

And heralded the event of the Prince of Peace 
and Light. 

Across the length of ages has His good influence 
spanned, 

Ever ready to the needy to extend the helping 
hand. 

Just remember God created every creature here 

on earth; 
That in every mortal being there is something 

of true worth; 



^^ ^0^ ^^ ^^ 
^agg C|^ ^3^ ^a^ €a^ 




—166— 



S?^ 5^ 5^ ^^ ^s^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



That in every human bosom, from whatever 

cUme or land, 
There's a heart that beats as yours does. Just 

extend the helping hand! 



The Power of Influence. 



Bad influence? Many a man 

Has been engrossed within it's ban, 

And bhndly he has followed on 

The road to doom, where hosts have gone. 

Away off on this road is where 

The hills are steep— all is despair — 

And travelers find, alas, too late. 

They can't turn back. Too bad a fate! 

And those far-off can hear a wail — 

And that is all. A woeful tale. 

The mountain brook that flows along 
To the rythmic tune of Nature's song, 
Soon becomes a muddy tide 
When consumed by the river wide. 

Good Influence? 'Tis a flower 
Of humanity which has power 
Of endurance; and its true worth 
Is known to mankind o'er the earth 
Where'er the glorious sun has shone. 
From land to land — from zone to zone. 
It has rewards. 'Tis victory won 
In knowing that some good is done 
By good influence, strewn broadcast. 
And gathered by those going past. 



k^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i 
Ca^ yg ^a^ Ca^ ^i^ 



—167- 



:^ 3^ :s^ ^^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 




Little Girl. I Think of You. 



0, little girl, with the eyes of blue 

And the locks of golden hair, 
0, little girl, with the heart so true, 

Little girl with the face so fair. 
When o'er the walls the moonbeams creep 

And the stars are shining, too. 
And all the world is wrapped in sleep, 

Little girl, 1 think of you. 



0, little girl, with the winning way 

And the heart so good and kind, 
O, little girl, with the laughter gay 

That left sunshine behind, 
0, little girl, there's an aching pain 

In my heart that hurts me so. 
As I recall the days again— 

The days of the long ago. 



0, little girl, with the mien demure 

And the form of sylph-like mold, 
0, little girl, whose life is pure 

As an angel from God's fold, 
Awake in my lonely cell at night. 

At my work the whole day through. 
When my heart is sad, when my heart is light. 

Little girl, I think of you. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
yg ^agg ^^ ^^g ^^ 




-168— 



3^ ^S^ 3?<^ ^Sif^.^?*^ 

yg y^ y^ ^>^ 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



Begin Today. 




If you've got a thing to do, 

Begin today! 
If some habit you'd eschew, 

Begin today! 
You can never foretell fate. 
And what is the use to wait? 
Tomorrow may be too late! 

Begin today! 



If you never bow in prayer. 

Begin today! 
There's a lot of comfort there. 

Begin today! 
If too heavy seems life's strain, 
And your lot is woe and pain. 
Go to Christ. His solace gain. 

Begin today! 



If for better things you'd strive, 

Begin today! 
If in business you would thrive, 

Begin today! 
The dawn that comes tomorrow 
May bring you only sorrow. 
But, trouble never borrow. 

Begin today! 



t^. t^. '^^. ^^. €^ 




—169— 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



5HUT-IN 50NG5 




Street Corner Mashers. 



Have you noticed on the comers of your town, 
As some evening you've gone strolling up and 
down, 

Just a little bunch of dandies. 
With their cigarettes and candies. 
Each one acting like a monkey or a clown? 

You can see them on the corner every night. 
And they're there all day on Sunday if it's 
bright. 

Sucking on their cigarettes, 
Just like hungry calves with frets, 
And the way they stare at women is a fright. 

If a pretty girl should happen down the street, 
Then this little bunch of lambkins look so sweet. 
They will wink the other eye. 
Shake their change and cough and sigh, 
And perhaps one has sufficient nerve to bleat. 

For a man to pass that crowd it is a task. 
It's enough to make a lady stand aghast. 

She must cross a slushy sluice 

Of filthy tobacco juice. 
She should have on rubber clothing and a mask. 

In the middle you will note they part their hair, 
And they sleep upon their trousers with great 
care. 

They resemble frizzled noodles. 
Or a wealthy lady's poodles — 
Or perhaps an ass with them would best com- 
pare. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 

^agg yg ^a^ ^a^ ^^ 



-170- 



3^ 3^ 3^ 3i?^ 3?e^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i 



SHUT-IN SONGS 



I grant this is the country of the free, 
And we're taught to love mankind where'er he 
be. 

That is good enough to tell; 

But I'd see this class in— well, 
A brindled pup demands more love from me. 



If I Were Free Tonight. 



If I were free tonight. 
And the moon shed its light, 
So lucid and pale, 
Over the vale. 
And" the silvery stars 
Which I see through the bars, 
With beauty so rare 
That naught can compare. 
Were gleaming as bright 
In the beauty of night, 
All things which annoy 
I'd forget, and enjoy 
The great beauty I'd see 
With a happy heart— free. 
I'd kneel on the sod 
And give thanks to God. 
Unto Him I'd unroll 
The great joy in my soul, 
And I'd weep with delight 
Were I free tonight — were I 
free tonight. 



^J^ ^»^ ^Jg^ c^ 
yg ^8^ €3^ ^g €^ 



—171— 



g^ ^a^ ^1^ y?: 



SHUT-IN SONGS 




Orphan Joe. 



An orphan boy was little Joe — 

A lonely orphan boy; 
His lot in life was mostly woe, 

With very little joy. 
A mother's love he never knew, 

Nor father's hand to guide. 
Nor e'en a friend with friendship true 

In all the world so wide. 

The orphanage where Joe was raised 

Graced a landscape fair, 
And every day the Lord was praised 

For His kind, loving care. 
The "Home" officials lived in style, 

And sumptuously dined. 
But the orphan's board was set the while 

With food of coarsest kind. 

Once a week the Chaplain talked, 

(A well-fed happy man). 
He told of how he'd rightly walked 

Across the worldly span. 
He told of sacrifices made 

(And bitter was the cup) 
In answering the voice that bade 

Him lift the fallen up. 

When little Joe had grown to be 

A puny lad of eight. 
He embarked upon life's sea — 

The unknown Sea of Fate. 



t' 



^ ^ ^^ ^^ 
^a^ ^»^ yg yg ^»^ 



—172- 



i 



s^ 3?^ 3^ 3^ ^e^ 
r ^j^ ^^ ^^ ^g^ 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



His little craft was very frail 
To sail a sea so wide; 

So, little Joe reefed up his sail 
And drifted with the tide. 



He passed along the streets ablaze 

With their electric lights; 
With wondering and wistful gaze 

He viewed the city's sights. 
He passed a grand all-night cafe, 

From whence came music, low, 
And from within the laughter gay 

Was heard by little Joe. 



He passed by marble mansions grand. 

Where sweetest flowers bloomed; 
It seemed just Hke some fairy land, 

With atmosphere perfumed. 
The lights from cozy bedrooms shone 

Upon the street below. 
And midnight winds chilled to the bone 

The form of little Joe. 



At last he went into a park, 

Where plashed a fountain deep. 
And in a corner, still and dark. 

Tired out, he went to sleep. 
He dreamed the people everywhere 

Were trying to bestow 
The yoke of enmity and care 

On little Orphan Joe. 



At dawn the beams of sunlight broke 
Upon the world, so fair. 

And with their magic touch awoke 
The little sleeper there. 



. ^ ^ ^ ^ 
^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



-173- 



3^ 3^ 3^ :3^ 3^ 
y^ ^^ €8^ y^ 




A big policeman, passing by, 

Perceived the look of woe 
And heard the soul-despairing sigh 

Of little Orphan Joe. 

And just because he wished him well 
He took the poor boy "in." 

They locked him in a gloomy cell- 
Though guilty of no sin. 

The Sea of Fate where sailed Joe's bark, 
Was tempest tossed and blue, 

And the dream he dreamed out in the park 
Alas, was coming true. 



The magistrate looked kindly at 

The little orphan boy. 
From tlie pedestal where he sat 

The world held forth much joy. 
He was a learned philanthropist; 

The kind who always know 
The thing to do to most assist 

The needy boys like Joe. 



And little Joe was sent away — 

A reform school, they said — 
Indefinitely there to stay. 

No friend his freedom plead. 
Passed the fleeting years apace 

Beside time's ceaseless flow, 
And change in heart and change in face 

Took place in Orphan Joe. 



When at last the great day came 
And freedom's goal was near, 

He'd failed to learn the woe and shame 
Of a thief's and crook's career. 

^ yt ^ ^^ 
^g yg ^^ ^ ^^ 

—174— 



1^ '^^ "^^ 3?^,^^ 
Mg; yg ^8^ ^^ 



^' 



f 



* 



SHUT-IN 50NG5 



He learned to look on one who steals 

As an ideal and hero. 
(0, sad the fate that fortune deals 

To boys like Orphan Joe. 



When at last to man's estate 

He grew with passing time, 
The guardians of his sad fate 

Had led him deep in crime. 
His life was spent behind the walls 

And prison towers, grim. 
The voice to better things that calls 

Was never heard by him. 



He died today, unmourned, alone, 

Within his gloomy cell. 
No picture hangs upon the stone 

Of friendships, true, to tell. 
An old man ere he reached his prime— 

His self his greatest foe. 
Thus ends the life of woe and crime 

Of little Orphan Joe. 



They bore him off in a box of pine 
With slow and measured tread. 

And laid him where God's bright sunshine 
Gleams o'er the convict dead. 



^ ^ ^ ^ 

<^ag: <^g: ^a^ ^a^ ^gg 



—175- 



5^ 5^ :S^ ^S^ 3if^ 
^a^ ^3^ yg y^ 

5HUT-IN SONGS 

- K- ^= 



(The lonely cell he occupied 

Another tread will know- 
It's doors tonaorrow open wide 
For another Orphan Joe.) 



A mother's love he never knew 

Nor father's hand to guide, 
Nor friends with friendship kind true 

In all the world so wide. 
And when we figure up the shame, 

The trials and the woe. 
Let's weigh them up against the blame 

And not poor Orphan Joe. 



FINIS. 



^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 
Qilg c^jg ^jg ^igg ^^ 




-176- 



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AUG 22 1908 



